


The Space Between Sleep

by Tattered_Dreams



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 5+1, At least it was meant to be, Bobby is Everyone's Dad, Christopher and Buck, Gen, Hen and Chim give me life, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Recovery, TWO IDIOTS, Trauma, and Carla - Freeform, buddie, buddie is canon don't lie, canon through 3x03, domestic morons, eddie's got a lot going on okay, firehouse family, its basically over 30k of these three boys, life continues basically, other canon relationships too, parenting, the buckley/diaz family, they're a family and don't even notice, with cameos from the 118
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-01-06 00:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 99,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/pseuds/Tattered_Dreams
Summary: As weeks pass after the Tsunami, Christopher has Eddie to help him deal with the scars it left behind. He also has Buck. Buck's dealing with his own demons, but he has both of them.Eddie's trying to keep them all together and finding out his family might not be as small as he thought.The 118 have their few cents to add, too, because don't they always.| Canon through 3x03 | All written: just needs posting | Depictions of trauma, some more detailed than others |





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Where do I even start? Oh. I know. With this: I blame Bia.
> 
> This fic is canon through 3x03 and disregards everything after it. A few tiny things are borrowed and repurposed from 4 and 5, just for my own amusement, but this is a reality that veered away from the show after Eddie left Chris at Buck's apartment.
> 
> I also don't want to give anything away, but just a warning that this is a story about recovery, so PTSD, trauma and all that fun psychological stuff are main themes, even though it's about the good too. Just be aware and put yourself first if anything hits too close.
> 
> There's a tiny note at the end of this chapter but I hope you enjoy? Even though it's all about trauma? ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

There’s nothing in the world quite like hearing your child scream.

It was bad enough when Christopher had been a baby. There had been no end to the doctors, the family members or the strangers on the street who would tell him “he has to learn to self-soothe”, “Don’t worry”, “He’ll learn, they always do”. “You’re still a good dad.” Those had been the tight, red-faced cries of hunger or frustration or simple tiredness before there was any other language he could use.

This is worse.

When Christopher first wakes up screaming after the Tsunami he survived it’s two nights later.

He didn’t sleep the first.

The sound of it; harsh and ragged through a seawater-torn throat, terrified in a way that’s a shrill rake in his bones, is possibly one of the worst things Eddie has ever heard, and he hears people’s horrified screams every day. He’s startled out of sleep by it, the noise ramming down his spine like a gunshot, and then he’s staggering to Christopher’s room in the dark, his chest so tight he can barely breathe.

Eddie manages to calm him down; holding Christopher tight and talking aimlessly to tug him back from the nightmare, breathing through his teeth in the hopes that it will hold back his own tears. Christopher doesn’t need to see him cry, too. The screams stem into hiccuping cries and heaving sobs which slowly parch into quaking breaths before the exhaustion of it pulls him back to sleep again, still folded into Eddie’s lap with tear stains dried on his cheeks.

It doesn’t just happen the once.

The doctors tell him that it’s natural, after the trauma that he survived, that there would be an adjustment period, and that no one could say for sure what that adjustment might be. A month, two months, six. Maybe a year, maybe five. Eddie bites his tongue as he listens to their sympathetic, distant voices down the phone and tries not to hold it against them that they just can’t understand.

They might be doctors, but they’re not the ones raising the sweetest kid in the world and feeling their heart break at the fact he might still have nightmares when he’s fifteen. It’s too much for Eddie to process.

It’s not just at night, either, though that’s definitely an ongoing source of anxiety and disruption in the Diaz home.

Christopher shies away from small things that never used to bother him. He gets anxious about washing his hands, hates eating scrambled eggs, won’t walk on the kitchen tiles in socks. The rushing sound of cars sometimes makes him flinch as they go past and they have to leave the house ten minutes early on a Friday, every Friday, because the neighbour’s sprinklers come on and the mist sprays across their front path.

It’s really no surprise that the Tsunami left scars, and that noises and sensations remind him of it. Eddie’s with Christopher more than he sees anyone else, even the 118, but he’s seen Buck since it all happened; left Chris with him again just three days afterwards, the day following the first nightmare.

Trauma looks different in an adult, in someone trained for crisis and disaster, but Eddie thinks Buck must be dealing with his own kind, even if not all of it matches Christopher’s. He keeps leaving them together in the hopes they can help each other.

The point is, Eddie is used to the screams at night long before Christopher’s nightmares start to morph.

It’s been more than a week after, closer to two, when Christopher wakes up screaming again for the second night in a row. It shocks Eddie awake, but he’s already alert as he throws off his blankets, like his brain is adapting to wait for this.

He’s glad that he wakes up so quickly, but the fact that he needs to is a source of corrosive pain, eating away at him.

Christopher is hyperventilating when Eddie gets to him. He’s knotted into his bedsheets, his throat wrung tight and cracking with hiccups, tears etched into his red cheeks. Eddie reaches for him, tugs him up from the bed and into his lap, rocking and stroking at his hair and murmuring in a constant stream to bring him back.

“You’re safe, you’re safe, I’m right here, it’s okay, Kid, you’re okay. Breathe, just breathe, I got you-”

The words pour out, as always, and he can’t stop himself saying them - often the same things, over and over - even though in the back of his mind he wonders if they’re useless.

Christopher comes back slowly and the screams take form, collapsing rough and pinched into syllables and letters.

“Buck-w-want B-uck. Where’s B-Buck. He’s d-ead, is-isn’t he? Like mom?”

“No, Kid,” Eddie gasps into his hair around the feeling of his heart dropping a whole beat. “No he’s not. He was in the hospital, remember? Then he was with you? You’ve seen him. He’s okay.”

“I sa-w him go,” Christopher cries, hitched breaths snagging his words, shredding them up. “He was i-in the water and then it too-k him. He was dead and i-it was my fau-lt. I hurt him.”

Eddie forces himself to breathe through the tightness in his own chest and the blood rushing in his ears.

“Hush, hush, hey. He’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t ever think that.”

He knows that Christopher has seen Buck since; he’s personally left them together but the doctors have explained this to him; that sometimes trauma blurs the lines between nightmare and reality and it can be hard to differentiate at first. Chris is still lost in the grips of it, somewhere in his subconscious; in a version of the Tsunami where Buck never left.

It’s enough to send a skittering pulse of horror through him. He’s already had to find a way to deal with the faint whispers in his head that say  _ they could have died _ on a loop sometimes, but this is more. Christopher gets stuck in that version of reality, maybe as often as nightly.

“It is, though,” Christopher cries. He flails in Eddie’s grip, tearing at the blankets still twisted around his legs, and then at his clothes when they pull, fingers scrabbling into the cotton. “He was s-aving me and I l-lost him and he fell down and ne-ver came up and it’s my fault.”

Eddie gently grasps his hands, prising them away from scratching at his pyjamas and tosses away the knotted blanket with his free one.

“Buck’s fine,  _ Mijo _ , I promise,” he says even though he can hear his voice shake.

Christopher, trembling, tugs a hand free but he doesn’t scratch at his clothes; he swipes hard at his face, rubbing through the tear stains; the ones that have dried tight in the skin and the ones that are still wet. He rubs hard enough to redden his cheeks even more and Eddie quickly pulls his hand down again, this time grabbing for the edge of the blanket so he can wipe at them more carefully.

“He didn’t come up,” Christopher gasps tearfully as his voice cracks. “The w-ater took him aw-ay.”

“Shhh, hey, he’s fine,” Eddie rocks him again, combing fingers through his hair, laying down the blanket so he can hold Christopher’s hands away from his face. “You want to talk to him?” We’ll call him first thing, okay?”

Christopher shudders as he swallows a sob and he looks up, eyes wide and glassy and desperately hopeful in the dark. “I can- can talk to him? Is he- Can I talk to him no-w? Please?”

“I don’t-”

“Please, Daddy,” Chris presses, his face crumpling as new tears spill from his eyes. Eddie quickly swipes them away. “Please. I want to t-alk to Bucky.”

The digital clock glowing through the dark on the bedside table says that it’s 1:47 in the morning. Buck will be home, but he’s also probably - hopefully - asleep.

Still.

Eddie knows him.

And he knows that if he doesn’t do this because he doesn’t want to bother Buck, then Buck’s the one who’ll most likely tear into him over it.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he says, and the instant he says it, some foreign tightness in his chest loosens in a rush. “Come on, we’re getting my phone, okay?”

Christopher, still heaving breaths that alternate between shallow, tremulous things and deep rattling ones in his lungs, each louder and more heart-rending than the last, clings to his hand as Eddie leads him back down the hallway. His sobs muffle to hiccups and he curls himself into a tiny ball as he tucks himself into the empty side of Eddie’s bed, like if he gets small enough, the nightmares won’t find him.

Eddie snatches up his phone from the side table. Buck’s been on his speed dial for the better part of a full year, and thumbing to the keypad is muscle memory. The phone is ringing faster than Eddie can really process that he’s doing it.

The ring seems too loud, to vivid and startling, cutting through the cloaked dark and the muted soundtrack of Christopher’s sniffles and lagged breathing. Eddie swallows hard but has barely a second to wonder whether this was a mistake, whether he’s asking too much.

On the second ring the line connects and Eddie’s breath rushes out, relief pouring through his bloodstream like spring water. He hadn’t even started to wonder what he would do - how he might calm Christopher if they couldn’t contact Buck.

“Eddie?” Buck half gasps. His breathing comes in tense snatches down the phone, his voice wrung and worried and tinged with awe or desperation. He doesn’t sound like someone recently asleep.

The sound of it reminds Eddie of the look on his face when he had collapsed into Hen’s arms, delirious with panic, relief, blood loss and adrenaline crashing out on him. Eddie thought he’d lost his son for thirty seconds. Buck had been looking for him for hours against all odds and mounting physical injury.

“Yeah it’s me,” he says. His voice comes out thready and it pulls a strangled sound out of Buck on the other end of the line. “I’m so sorry. I know- I know that it’s late but-”

“Is he-” Buck hesitates, trips over the trembling words. “Is he okay? Christopher?”

Eddie glances at him. He’s stopped shaking and Eddie’s not sure if that’s good or bad. “He had another nightmare.”

He hears Buck pull in a breath, the hiss of it between his teeth. “Another one,” he repeats. “He-it...he’s okay, though? Was it...different?”

“He thinks-thought...He’s okay now, mostly, but-” Eddie rubs the back of his neck and forces the rest out- “When he first sort of woke up he thought you died. I couldn’t convince him you were okay. Well. As- Anyway...he wanted to…”

“He’s awake?” Buck’s voice breaks, the words raw, torn out of him. “Put him on. If that’s what-”

“Yeah,” Eddie assures him, nodding and moving over to Christopher. “I hoped that would be okay, just for a moment. Sorry, I know it’s two am-”

“Eddie,” Buck cuts him off. “It’s okay. I. I want to. Really.”

Eddie exhales, pauses, feels something under his breastbone shift and settle, turning from fragile uncertainty to iron and fibreglass.

“Thanks, Buck,” he murmurs. “Here. I’m passing you over.”

He holds out the cell phone and Christopher twists in his balled up shape to reach out for it.

“Just a few minutes, okay?” he reminds quietly.

Chris nods, crowding it to his ear and folding around it, half lost in the pillows like he can somehow protect the words he pours into the speaker.

“Buck?” he asks tentatively.

Buck’s reply is just audible to Eddie as he sinks onto his side of the bed; muffled and a little tinny but enough that he can lay down and still follow along.

“Hey, Buddy.” Buck sounds lighter already. Eddie can picture his exact smile as he lets his eyes slip closed. “I’m right here. How you doing, Kid?”

“Good,” Christopher murmurs tremulously, shy and touched with reluctance. His fingers pick idly at the fold of the bedsheets underneath him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. It’s a bit scary going to sleep though, isn’t it?”

Christopher hums.

“Yeah, me too,” Buck continues easily. He apparently doesn’t need Christopher to uphold the conversation, content to do it alone as Chris’ breathing smooths out and the hiccups stop. “But you have your dad there, and he’s never gonna let anything happen to you, you know.”

“What about you, though?” Chris asks plaintively just as the thought crosses Eddie’s mind. Buck lives alone, and that’s not something that’s slipped past Christopher, even emotionally wrung as he is.

“I know you’re safe,” Buck replies before Eddie can open his mouth and say something stupid like he’ll never let anything happen to Buck either. “And if you’re safe, I’m okay. You remember what you said to me on the pier?”

Eddie opens his eyes, turning his head in time to see Christopher nod fervently, fingers a little gentler around the phone. “You saved me. And all the other people.”

He can hear Buck laugh hollowly for a cut off instant. “You saved me too, Buddy, but I mean before that. On the bench. You remember?”

Christopher nods again. Eddie knows he’s not being subtle now, about the way he’s straining to hear Buck’s side, but Chris is singularly focused on his best friend’s voice and doesn’t seem to notice.

“You were sad,” Christopher remembers. “And I said you’re gonna be okay, Kid.”

The words hit Eddie’s brain and hang there for a moment without comprehension. Then they pulse hard into his chest like someone doing CPR. His breath rushes out and the back of his eyes sting. Tears clot high in his throat and his ribs feel too tight. They’re words he recognises; words he’s said himself, countless times.

“Yeah, that,” Buck breathes finally, a whisper through the phone. “And you’re right. I’m gonna be fine, and you are too, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris answers.

They all know it’s not so simple, but right now, in the dark early hours, it’s enough that Chris believes him.

“You think you can do your dad and I a favour and try to sleep again? And you can call me any time you need, yeah. We’re gonna be okay, kid.”

Eddie bites his tongue and swallows tears. There’s a worn out, glowing look on his son’s face that’s wiped out the frantic lost one from before the phonecall.

It hurts, in a way, that he couldn’t do this himself, but he knows - knew before this, the Doctors warned him, too - that there are some things he just can’t do. He’s been able to soothe the other nightmares, talk him back, but this one- this was just the first that is a little out of his reach.

Buck lived through this with him, and he’s just grateful he has a best friend who’s so selflessly prepared to be there to help pick up the pieces he can’t put back together.

“Alright, Kid,” Eddie says finally into the lull that falls after that. “Both of you need to go back to sleep. Think you can let Buck go now?”

Chris slowly nods, whispering a reverent “Bye, Bucky” into the phone before returning it.

Eddie stands up, crossing to the window to put just a little distance in now that Christopher is yawning. He thumbs the volume down button on the side of the phone anyway.

“Thank you,” he whispers into it. “He was- anyway. I really didn’t want to disturb you and I’m sorry to put this on you, and in the middle of the ni-”

“Eddie!” Buck’s voice rings at him. “It’s okay. I swear. You....you didn’t wake me up. And...I love that kid. It’s my fault he was there, that he’s dealing with any of this at all. I want to help. I mean it; night time phonecalls, writing him cards, watching him as much as you’ll let me, dropping him off at doctors. Whatever. Whatever you need.”

Eddie presses his fingers to his eyes, forcing the tears to go back even as they burn him from the inside out. He can’t cry in front of Christopher, not right now.

“I’m not sure- I can’t-” But he stems the words, too. He doesn’t want Chris to hear them, to know how lost he is.

Buck seems to hear what he couldn’t say anyway.

“Help him?” he asks, impossibly gentle. “You’re already helping him, Eddie. You’re there for him, you’re listening to him. He needs that. Don’t take this the wrong way, either because God knows I feel better when you have my back, but I’m glad you weren’t there with us.” He breathes out unevenly and it shudders down the line but he continues anyway. “I got torn away from him so fast I got winded. It was like being punched in the chest hard enough to stop your heart. I’m surprised I didn’t pass out. It’s a miracle I found him at all just the first time.

“So maybe you don’t know exactly what he’s going through because you weren’t in it, but you’re his father. You’re there now and that’s what he needs.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder, wondering if he can see something of Buck’s certainty in the boy bundled in the bed. Christopher is asleep, though, still curled tightly up like a cat and his curly hair crushed into the pillows. The leftover tension that’s been curdling in the pit of Eddie’s stomach finally starts to unwind, leaving him feeling oddly adrift in his own bedroom.

He knows Buck’s wrong about part of that, though.

“He needs a support system,” he says. “And you’re right; that’s me, but it’s not just me. It’s doctors and friends and it’s you, too. He’s sleeping right now and twenty minutes ago he was screaming because he thought you were gone. But yeah, if you could do me a favour and not get into any more natural disasters without me, I’d appreciate it.”

Buck makes the bitten sound of an almost laugh, like it’s been startled out of him. “I’ll try,” he says. “I’m glad it helped. And...thanks - for letting me talk to him. For trusting me with him.”

“Meant what I said,” Eddie replies. “Get some sleep, too, alright?”

“Yeah. Think I’ll give that a go now. I’m here, though; whatever you need. I meant that, too.”

“I know. Night, Buck.”

Eddie pauses, listens for the reply and then the dial tone before he hangs up.

He pads across the room to Christopher’s sleeping, coiled form, feeling almost light-headed with the pulsing relief in his bloodstream. It will be short lived; he’s seen trauma enough to know that the road back is a journey, not a sprint, but for now, it’s enough to drown out the shadow of worry that’s draped through the house like a shroud.

It’s enough, for right now to know that Christopher is asleep again and that across town, Buck is as okay as he can be, too.

Eddie doesn’t really want to move Chris and risk jostling him awake again - his hold on dreams is so tenuous in the wake of the Tsunami - so he gently frees the blankets trapped under his legs and lays them back over him before climbing in on the other side.

One thing at a time, that’s what everyone says, for as long as it takes.

.

Life carries on in their new normal.

Carla watches Chris for at least half the week, always showing up at the door on time with a smile and ready to adapt to whatever’s needed in the moment.

She introduced Christopher to dry shampoo, and it smells artificial and leaves his hair with a kind of chalky texture, but it means Eddie doesn’t have to coax his trembling son to endure tipping his head back in the bathtub nearly so much. Not long after that, she bought him a pair of socks with little tacky rubber grip patterns on the soles so that he didn’t skid on the tiles in the kitchen any more.

Buck was right when he said she was just what he needed, he just couldn’t really have anticipated back then how much of a godsend she would be.

Eddie gets his two weekend days with Chris, but outside of those, when it isn’t a Carla day it’s a Buck day.

Eddie drives him over to Buck’s place early before he has to be at the firehouse to start his shift, and he stops there to get him before they go home. From what Chris says, the two of them watch movies, experiment in the kitchen - once setting off a smoke alarm, but Chris says this with an emphatic ‘shhhhh, you’re not supposed to know’ - and go on small outings to the local store or the swings in the park.

Buck is still scared to take him too far out, and Eddie doesn’t push him.

It’s a Wednesday, two days after the early morning phonecall to Buck and Eddie manages to finagle himself a half shift and duck out on the 118 just after noon.

He slides into his car in the lot outside the firehouse, waving at Hen as he pulls the door closed, and taps out a text to Buck.

12:03pm   
Free for the afternoon. Where are you guys?

He turns over the engine and sheds his jacket into the passenger seat and then there’s a reply waiting.

Buck 12:03pm   
My place. Hurry and there might be some lunch left.

Buck 12:04pm   
In the interest of not finding natural disasters without you, how do you feel about coming to the Zoo?

Buck 12:04pm   
Its inland.

Eddie smirks. He knows they never went, that they weren’t ready to, the first day Eddie dropped Christopher off with Buck when he was still battered and bruised and looked like a single unkind word might knock him over. He recognises his own teasing words from that day, though. He’d thrown them around in a way that was familiar; trying so hard to let normalcy and implicit trust crack that guilt-ridden look on Buck’s face. He recognises the text right now for the attempt to reach out that it is, and the admission that they’re still not ready to go alone.

12:04pm   
Inland is good. Count me in. See you in ten.

He backs out of the parking lot and leaves the firehouse behind without a look back, hooking a right at the intersection and heading for Buck’s rather than home.

Christopher proudly informs him that he helped to make the faintly questionable looking pasta bowl that they all dig into, and then Eddie ushers him and a wary Buck out to the car. They don’t go near the marine exhibit, or the arctic circle and they even steer clear of the duck pond and the otters. They see the savannah, though, and watch the tigers getting fed, roam the farmyard and explore the reptile house.

Buck gets talked into holding a Tarantula by a six year old little girl.

An amused staff member tells them the spider’s name is Dolly as she lifts it out, and Buck’s jaw ticks, shoulders rigid as it’s lowered towards him. The little girl watches closely and her parents look on, biting their smiles. Eddie stops Christopher from falling over in laughter when Buck almost drops it.

It’s harder to tell, whether Christopher has the same agoraphobia of leaving the house with Buck, or whether that’s more of an adult fear. Eddie thinks it’s Buck’s alone and Christopher simply never pushes to go out. Maybe the two of them aren’t ready to be alone in the world again, but if that means that for now at least, Eddie gets to be there for moments like this - Buck leaving the reptile house shaking off exaggerated shivers and sending Christopher into new peals of laughter - then Eddie’s going to take it while it lasts.

.

Christopher sleeps through the night. And the night after that.

They’re restless sleeps; Eddie hears him shifting, muttering, sometimes crying out. He sounds melancholy, not scared, and his dreams don’t sound happy, but he doesn’t wake.

The glowing numbers on the digital clock by Eddie’s bed say its 2:54 on Saturday morning when he’s shattered from sleep by familiar, wrenching cries from Christopher’s room. They rebound shrilly off the walls as Eddie goes out to him and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s actually raining. The angry drumming of the drops on the roof and on the window panes are loud as bullets but they barely even register, drowned out with Christopher’s terror.

Eddie’s used to navigating blind, and he only flips on the light when he’s in his son’s bedroom. Brightness floods in, burning his eyes and Eddie’s heart lurches.

Chris is clawing at the blankets, his legs tangled up in them, face red and streaked with tears. His eyes are glassy and distant in a way that has nothing to do with his glasses being hung over the lamp but everything to do with his mind twisted up in whatever dreamworld he’s fighting his way out of.

“I’m drowning!” He screams, a sound that feels too huge and too painful for such a tiny person. “Dad, I’m drowning- I can’t swim, I can’t. I’m tired. It hurts, it h-hurts!”

Eddie scoops him up like always. He’s not sure what else he can do and at least this seems to do something. He helps tear away the blankets, careful not to pull on him too hard, so that at least Chris won’t hurt himself if he keeps trying. He’s not sure what it is about the bedsheets that terrorises him exactly, just that getting rid of them is always a good start.

“Hey, hey,” he says. “You’re not drowning, you’re right here, see? I’ve got you, Kid. I’m not letting anything happen to you, alright? You don’t have to swim any more.”

He keeps talking even if he thinks it’s just the sound that helps, not the words themselves.

Christopher calms gradually, the cries turning to sobs that stick in the back of his throat. It’ll be sore again in the morning. At least Carla has helped him stock up on fruit smoothies for him to drink while he’s still not keen on glasses of water.

“You want to talk about it?” Eddie asks gently when the silent tears have slowed and he’s breathing with his whole lungs again.

Christopher makes a muffled, cracked noise of dissent and hides his face into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie’s scared of hearing it, in so many ways. He’s scared of knowing what exactly Chris lived through, what he’s haunted by. And yet he’s still more scared that he’ll never want to talk at all.

Eddie forces himself to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Okay. That’s okay,  _ Mijo _ . We don’t have to. Not right now. But I want to know how to help so you think maybe you can just tell me what woke you up just now?”

Christopher hesitates, face pressed into Eddie and his fingers are bone white, clenched in the fabric of his shirt. But then he expels a shaky breath and says, “I was swimming.”

Eddie waits. He watches Christopher’s fingers shake, let go of his shirt, and then go up to clamp over his ear at the same time his other hand fixes over the other ear. Eyes tight shut, he continues.

“Buck put me on the fire truck. And then it was gone. It hurts.”

Alarm flashed down Eddie’s spine white-hot like being struck by lightning. He cradles Christopher’s head and tries to hide the sudden buzzing under his skin, the wild impulse to run him to the ER.

“Does it still hurt right now? Or when you were asleep?”

“When I was asleep,” Christopher says, loud over his own clamped ears.

“Where did it hurt, Christopher?”

“My chest,” he says, and moves a hand to point at the centre, just above his sternum, before fixing it back over his ear.

“But not now?” Eddie repeats.

Chris shrugs then slowly shakes his head uncertainly.

Eddie rubs at his back and breathes, trying to let go of the panic spitting through his nerves. He’s not in pain; he knows that rationally, and so would Chris if he weren’t still trying to differentiate between being awake and being asleep. So instead, he diverts him.

“What else do you remember from the dream?”

Christopher shuffles, fingers scrunching open and closed against the sides of his head. It’s not with the same ferocity as the way he’s been yanking at his blankets or swiping at his face; it’s almost like a form of self-comfort.

That’s when Eddie realises - so, so late - that now the screaming has stopped, he can hear the rain again. If he can, so can Christopher.

He’s failing him. He doesn’t know how to help, what to watch out for until it’s already too late.

“There was a lady,” Chris says then. “A dog was barking. Lots of yelling.” He looks up, eyes teary between the clasp of his hands. “Buck was gone.”

He says it with trepidation; like he’s worried that Eddie will cast it away as unimportant or that he’ll tell him that Buck is, actually, gone. His mouth wobbles.

“Yeah, he got pulled away,” Eddie says gently. “But we found him, and we found you. You’re both okay.”

Chris nods slowly, still with a watery expression and it doesn’t take much to know he’s unconvinced. He glances over his shoulder at the window and says, in a very small voice, “I don’t like the rain.”

Eddie rubs his back and tries not to let the helplessness he feels spill into his voice. “I know, Buddy. I’ll put the TV on so you don’t have to hear it.”

Chris slowly pulls his hands from his ears and they hover at the sides of his head. He says, “Buck doesn’t like the rain either.”

Eddie feels strangely tempted to laugh. It’s not a segue that he thought was coming, but then...it’s also not really surprising, when he considers it. It must just make sense to Christopher that if they suffered the same thing, they might fear the same things, too. Eddie doesn’t know how to tell him it doesn’t always work like that.

He’s not even sure he can. Buck had been awake before they called last time, he’s sure about that, so they do apparently share some form of struggle with sleep. Buck has a fear of leaving the house with Christopher to care for, but Eddie doesn’t know what other shapes the trauma has taken for him.

“I’m sure Buck’s fine, Kid,” Eddie says. “He can put his TV on, too.”

“But...what if he’s not?”

Eddie thinks he should probably be more wary of the fact that his kid is clearly steering this conversation and he’s likely being played but…

It’s three in the morning, and he’s just glad that it seems to be distracting him from the rain and whatever leftover shadows of the nightmare might still be tied up in his blankets.

“Can we call him?” Christopher asks. “Please?”

Eddie hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t want to get into the habit of calling Buck - mostly because he thinks it could easily be a hard one to break - but he remembers the earnestness in his voice last time. He thinks about how small Chris’ voice is as he asks for this when he won’t ask for any other kind of help.

He knows Buck would want him to call.

(He actually doesn’t really want to ever see Buck’s face if he found out that Eddie thought of calling because Christopher asked, and then didn’t).

“Okay, we can call him,” he sighs, and tries not to be too relieved or too jealous when Christopher hugs him tightly, finally dropping his hands from his ears properly to do it. “Just for a minute,” Eddie says firmly. “He needs sleep and so do you.”

Chris agrees.

Eddie turns on the TV for him, notching up the volume before he ducks out. Their neighbours have been really understanding so far, but even if this is their breaking point, Eddie will take that over leaving him listening to the rain on his own again. He snatches up his phone from his own room, pulling up Buck’s number and calling it before he can second guess, still standing at the foot of his bed.

It only rings once.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice is raw, exhausted in a way that’s bone deep, but none of the roughness in it sounds like he was asleep moments before. Vaguely, Eddie wonders if he should be more worried than he’s letting himself be.

Or perhaps he’s best not asking those questions. Worrying about his best friend’s sleeping patterns might be crossing some kind of line, one that’s harder to see in the dark.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, and then, purposely, “Sorry to wake you up.”

Buck doesn’t respond to it either way, “Is Christopher okay?”

“He just…” Eddie isn’t sure how to word it. This isn’t the blind panic of last time. This is just… “he was worried. About you. The rain woke him up and he’s having a bit of a hard time.”

He starts for the door, reaching out to catch the frame and guide himself down the hall, but Buck’s sucked in breath makes him pause halfway to Christopher’s room.

“It was the firetruck,” Buck offers. His voice is low, catches on the words. “While we were on the top of it after the first wave, there was this loud dripping, I guess. Could hear it everywhere, every time the weight shifted. The truck was half flooded and the whole thing is steel plate. All the water running...I- with everything else going on, I didn’t think about it - I wasn’t even sure he was listening, but I guess…”

“It got stuck in his head anyway,” Eddie sighs.

“It’s not a sound you really hear anywhere else,” Buck says, self deprecation etched into the words. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Eddie cuts him off. “It’s not your fault. And all of us are going to get through this.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, though it barely sounds like he agrees. “Can I- is it okay if...if he still wants to talk to me?”

“Of course it is.” Eddie pushes himself off the wall and pushes Christopher’s door open.

His son is coiled at the head of the bed, rocking to himself with the blankets still thrown to the foot of the mattress. Eddie makes a mental note to bring up the bedsheet thing to the doctor.

“Hey, Chris, it’s Buck. Just a minute, okay?”

Christopher is already reaching for the phone and Eddie let’s it go.

“Hello,” Chris mumbles into it.

There’s a waiting kind of quiet before- “It was a bad dream,” Chris says.

And Eddie realises that he never put the call volume back up after the last time. He’s going to have to content himself with listening just to Christopher’s half.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Buck to say the right thing. It’s just that he feels oddly out of place, excluded from their lives in some small but significant way, as he listens to the lapses of silence between Christopher’s soft responses. He can’t fully bring himself to mind, though; not while he’s watching the stiffness leach out of Chris’ spine and shoulders, and the way sleep starts to creep back into his eyes.

He has the fleeting thought that it would just be easier if Buck were there himself, because if he knows him, he’s also trying to pick words carefully and not overstep, and Eddie’s used to communicating with him in a single, rushed look.

The forming idea is shoved aside by Christopher holding out the phone to him.

“He’s still there,” Chris says, yawning. “He said I had to try to sleep some more.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, feeling like he’s on autopilot even though this is completely new. “You try to sleep then and I’ll say bye to Buck for you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Chris yawns again. He doesn’t protest as Eddie carefully places the blankets back over his slumped form, sure not to tuck him into them. “Love you,” he hums.

Eddie’s heart stutters and he bites down the rush of sharp affection in his chest. “Love you, too,  _ Mijo _ . Sleep.”

He ducks out of Chris’ room, pulls the door mostly closed and lifts the phone again.

“Buck?”

“Still here,” he says. “Thanks. For letting me.”

“Thank you,” Eddie replies, suddenly exhausted himself. “For wanting to.”

.

Another three nights pass.

Eddie goes back to work, Carla takes Christopher out to the park, Buck helps him make waffles.

Christopher doesn’t wake up screaming.

He wakes up, though. So does Eddie; the silence is a relearning process and he wakes up automatically just when he hears a floorboard creak or a bedspring flex.

He hears Christopher the first night; the shuffle as he pushes all his blankets off and gets up. There’s the faint hum as he goes to put on the TV and the tense, anticipating quiet that falls afterwards. He waits for a few long minutes, watching the glowing numbers on the clock flick over and then gets up.

Chris is still awake, curled on his side, eyes open in the dark and fingers tracing patterns over the side of his model firetruck.

The second night, he pretends to be asleep.

Eddie hears him shuffling around, waits, and goes to check. His eyes are closed, but his small frame is too still as he holds his breath.

Eddie feels shards of his heart splintering through his ribs, a stabbing kind of pain. He deliberates and finally retreats, warring with himself, then lays awake until the sky outside is just starting to streak with sunrise, wondering whether he’d been right to let Chris keep to himself, or whether he’d taken an easy out.

On the third night, Eddie is ready for the pressure in his chest to try to crush him, ready for the fixed-still shape of his son in his bed not long after he’s woken up. The TV isn’t on like before, but Christopher isn’t asleep.

“Ice cream?” Eddie asks him.

Christopher twitches, visibly seems to consider, and then opens his eyes hopefully.

So they sit on the couch at one in the morning with two bowls of neapolitan as Scooby Doo reruns play on the TV. Chris prods his spoon through the scoop in his bowl and Eddie keeps cutting his up because he’s not a child and the thought of eating ice cream in the middle of the night doesn’t quite have the same appeal.

“You know it’s okay to wake me up, right?” Eddie says casually as he flattens a bit of vanilla into the bottom of the bowl. “It’s okay if you want to talk or come find me.”

Christopher ducks his head over his own spoon.

“I didn’t want you to be sad,” he mumbles into his bowl, voice raspy.

Eddie forces aside the familiar lurch of his heart and the way his throat caves in. “It makes me sad if you’re scared or upset,” he insists. “So you come find me, okay? No matter what. We’re going to get through this together.”

Christopher nods and sticks his spoon in his mouth. Eddie just hopes the silent acknowledgement is enough. He falls asleep not long after, empty bowl teetering in his hands, and Eddie rescues it, then very carefully carries him back to bed.

In his own room, now closer to four than anything else, he compulsively checks his phone as he crashes back into the pillows, sleep tugging at the back of his eyes.

There’s no missed messages. He wonders for a second just how many times Buck wakes up in the middle of the night and lays there or paces his room, caught up in his head, not wanting to worry anyone. Eddie can’t make himself call, though. Something about it feels different when it isn’t Christopher doing the asking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to everyone who's already left such wonderful, kind feedback on this. It means a lot and I hope the next bit doesn't disappoint :)
> 
> ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

The next morning following the night-time ice cream, Eddie drives Christopher over to Buck’s as usual.

He opens the door for them in a firehouse t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but he’s shaved and he’s smiling even though his hair is growing slightly longer. It’s a combination that aches to see in development; the less disciplined peeks of him out of a work uniform but fitted around shards of the firefighter he’s holding onto as the only identity he knows.

“Hey, Buck,” Christopher says happily, shuffling over the threshold on his crutches.

“Hi, Buddy,” Buck replies fondly, rubbing his head and accepting the lopsided usual hug around his waist before Chris moves past him. “Did you eat? There’s food on the counter if you want any.”

“He ate,” Eddie says, remembering the bowl of dry cereal and knowing it wasn’t enough. Christopher has already diverted towards the kitchen, smiling impishly. “But if he’ll eat something else that’s great.”

He says it with mild humour - a throwaway comment - but Buck tears his eyes from Chris to shoot Eddie a concerned look, his eyes pale as his brows furrow, pulling at the blushed colour of his birthmark.

“Is he not eating?” Buck asks in an undertone.

“He’s eating,” Eddie hurries to reassure him, leaning on the door jamb. “Just...I’m not sure. Not as much as usual? He’s still pickier about some things.”

Buck nods like it makes sense to him. Perhaps it does.

He says, “I- uh...Haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

Eddie frowns. “I texted you yesterday.” He doesn’t think he imagined that - sending the photo of Chimney with the hose caught around the firetruck door in a knot and captioning it ‘He said he was just glad you weren’t here to witness it. I got your back’.

Buck laughs and rubs the back of his head, teeth worrying at his lip. He looks almost bashful.

“No. yeah. I mean...at night. Is he sleeping okay again?”

Oh.

Eddie really kind of wants to ask if Buck is, but he knows it’ll only get deflected if he asks now.

“He’s woken up but he hasn’t been panicked like before,” Eddie admits. Then, feeling the guilt of failure spike in his chest and constrict the base of his throat, he finds himself continuing, forcing the words out, “He tried to pretend he was asleep a couple of nights ago. I-I. _ Dios _. I let him, Buck.”

Buck reaches out to him, hand closing on his shoulder, a warm, steady weight that matches his eyes.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You’re doing so much for him and he knows that. He’s not going to hold that against you.”

“He thought he was protecting me from seeing him sad.”

“So you talked about it,” Buck says, firmly, like he knows without needing to hear it. “And you told him where he could stick that. You aren’t failing him Eddie.”

He doesn’t think it was something he needed to hear until it’s Buck that’s saying it. Breathing comes a little easier.

“He’s still waking up, though,” Eddie sighs. “And I just...don’t know how to help. He doesn’t want to talk about it but he’s not okay. I made an appointment to see his doctor. In case they can get through or tell me what else I can do but...I want to give him time.”

Buck nods slowly. His hand drops from it’s place on Eddie’s shoulder with a final squeeze. He’d forgotten it was there, honestly, but now he misses it.

“Do you...will it help at all if he talks to me?”

Eddie’s heart turns over.

“If...Christ. Buck, if he will, and if you’re- if you _ can _....I think he’ll tell you before he’ll tell anyone else.”

Buck’s expression is deeply considering as he glances back over his shoulder, leaning out a little to peer around the stairs. Eddie leans off the doorframe, craning his neck to follow his line of sight.

Christopher is seated happily on the couch in front of the TV, two pieces of toast on a plate on his lap. They must not be subtle, because he looks up and waves at them with a bright smile.

“Thanks. Really,” Eddie says as Chris goes back to his programme.

Buck stands upright again, a shrug pulling his t-shirt taut across his shoulders. “Yeah, of course. It’s still my fault he was there. This is literally the least I can do.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Eddie mutters, knowing it’s mostly futile. He knows better than most that you have to be able to forgive yourself before anyone else can count.

Buck shrugs again.

“You gotta go. You’ll be late and Bobby will have you written up. We’ll be fine. Promise.”

“I know you will.” Eddie rolls a kink out of his shoulder from where he’s been leaning on the doorway and gestures towards the backpack Christopher abandoned near the foot of the stairs. “All the usual is in there. Make sure you eat, too.”

“Aw, cute,” Buck smirks. “You worried about me as well?”

Eddie doesn’t rise to the bait. “About both of you, yeah,” he says plainly and watches the way Buck’s expression slides headlong into wonder. “See you when I’m out. Bye, Chris, be good!”

“Bye, Dad!” Chris calls over.

Eddie nods, claps Buck on the shoulder and ducks out the door, making his way back to the car.

.

“Traffic bad this morning?” Chim asks sympathetically when Eddie jogs into the firehouse kitchen four minutes late.

“No - sorry, Cap,” he says, shooting the reply wide to include Bobby, who’s dishing out scrambled eggs. “Just dropping Christopher off with Buck.”

This is nothing out of the ordinary to him, but Hen’s head lifts up, her eyes sharp behind her glasses.

“For the day?”

Eddie sinks onto a stool and pulls a plate over. He hasn’t made scrambled eggs in weeks because Chris hates the texture of them right now, and he can’t quite place Hen’s tone with the distraction.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Carla is out of town on her day off and Christopher loves hanging out with Buck.”

“Uh huh,” Hen says.

“Still doing that?” Chimney asks, hand paused halfway to his mouth with a piece of toast.

Eddie takes the insinuating tone and lets it slide off of him. “Buck actually gets what he’s going through, and as far as Chris is concerned, Buck is a safe place,” he says firmly. “And he isn’t moping around, wasting away or lost in his head if he has Chris to watch, either. It’s good for both of them.”

The team were aware that Buck has been left with Christopher since the wave. Eddie told them - half broke down in the locker room, hoping it was the right thing, actually, the first time afterwards - but he’s also been guarded with the details. It hasn’t been his place to let on to the rest of the team how he thinks Buck is coping away from the job in the aftermath and not talking about his best friend inside the firehouse makes that easier.

Maybe it’s a sign he’s more tangled into Buck’s life away from it than he used to be. It’s hard to tell. He also can’t bring himself to pull back or regret it.

“I don’t think that’s where she was going with it,” Chimney says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts. “Sounds like they can help each other through it. Maddie was saying she’s gotten a few texts from Buck in the middle of the night. Thinks maybe he’s developing a bit of insomnia.”

All thought of what Hen might have meant, if not to insinuate Buck shouldn’t be left with Christopher, flies out of Eddie’s mind. There’s an irrational flash of annoyance up the back of his neck - He’s been careful with what he says and here Maddie is speculating about insomnia to Chimney?

It fades as quickly as it spiked. He knows it doesn’t make total sense to want to protect Buck from the team like this. They’d want to know. It leaves the revelation spinning in his suddenly empty head.

“Insomnia?” he repeats. “How much has he been awake?”

Chimney looks suddenly slightly contrite as he swallows a mouthful of bacon. Eddie gets the distinct impression Chim is trying to protect Buck in the exact same way he is and wonders if that makes him an idiot. Still, Chimney replies, hedging a little, “I don’t know. Maybe not much. We don’t need to jump to conclusions, it was just a couple of nights.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Bobby interrupts gently, saying with more confidence in his voice than in his expression, “He’s a grown man. He hasn’t asked for help and we don’t want to suffocate him. The most we can do is be here for him and hope he reaches out if he needs something.”

Hen salutes to that with a forkful of eggs.

“Now eat your food,” Bobby continues, in a tone that treads a fine line between father and captain. “Trucks need washing as soon as we’re done.”

As it happens, they get a call before then and ride out instead. It’s enough, at least for now, for Eddie to shelve the concerns about Buck to the back of his mind.

.

The rest of the week slips away from him.

Carla continues to be a saint, encouraging Christopher out of the house when they have a good day, and happy to help him navigate the inside and keep him occupied when he doesn’t want to leave. She always gives Eddie a hug when she arrives and when she leaves, coupled with her usual compassionate smile and Eddie wouldn’t be managing without her.

Christopher’s school is due to regroup for the new semester soon; still a few weeks off and Eddie deliberates over e-mailing them about what happened.

“I don’t want them to treat him differently,” Eddie sighs, rubbing his face with exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mind. It’s been a long shift and they’ve barely been back to the firehouse between calls. “Chris knows when they do, but it has to be better to tell them?”

Carla is just clearing off the kitchen table from what looks like a drawing session; crayons and felt tip pens scattered among crate paper sheets. Her eyebrows pull down in sympathy.

“In my experience I can say it’s better that they know than not,” she says. “You don’t want them to tell him to wash his hands and not know how to handle it or what’s wrong if that still upsets him like it does. They’re a good school, but I’ve seen some bad ones in my time where they think that kind of thing is kids being rebellious.”

That’s a little terrifying; that someone might further upset Christopher and bring back all the trauma while he’s out of Eddie’s reach.

Carla finishes stacking the paper in the drawing box and picks up her bag and keys, crossing the kitchen to give Eddie the usual squeeze around the waist.

“You have time, Honey. You don’t have to decide now. He might not be ready to go back when the semester starts, but you have time, Boo.”

Eddie hugs her back tightly, grateful in a way that the “Thank you” he whispers to her just can’t do justice to. His chest feels slightly looser as he sees her out to the door, and when she’s gone, he pushes the laptop closed on the draft e-mail that’s still blank.

He thinks that they all need a little more time.

.

Eddie feels antsy in a way he can’t quantify right up until he gets back to Buck’s apartment the next Tuesday night.

He had to leave earlier than usual, dropping Christopher off without a chance to make any breakfast because of a traffic pile up that had already been called in and needed more hands on deck.

Buck waved him off, promising to feed Christopher and saying it was no trouble - he’s mastered breakfast foods - and visibly holding himself back from asking about the early call. Eddie felt off-kilter and guilty the whole ride to the firehouse even though he knows it’s not his fault. He’s just really starting to hate riding around for the day without Buck’s shoulder pressed against his in the ladder truck.

His replacement - though Eddie uses the word very lightly - is hard-headed and self-assured in an entirely different way to Buck’s impulsive, easy confidence, and she lacks his heart. She’s also been pretty clear from the start that she’s here only until she gets her own fire station and team back.

Knowing they’re very firmly on the same page there is what makes the situation bearable.

The off-kilter feeling doesn’t go away all day, though, not until he’s running up to Buck’s apartment door and knocking and Christopher is pulling it open with a beaming smile.

“Daddy!”

He staggers forwards, arms out without his crutches, and Eddie crouches to catch him.

“Hey, Kiddo. You have a good day? Where’s Buck?”

“Yeah it was good,” Christopher says brightly. “Bucky’s upstairs. He said to answer the door for him because it’d be you.”

Eddie lifts him up, little fingers clinging tightly around his shoulders, and kicks the door closed behind them. He inhales a delicate soapy scent that he can’t place as he walks Christopher into the apartment. 

“Are we going home?” Chris says.

“Yeah, we want to beat the traffic.” Eddie shoots him a sideways glance. His tone is light, but he’s watching for it when Christopher’s face drops. He nods, all small and folded in. Eddie guesses, “You don’t want to?”

Christopher hesitates and then shakes his head, leaning it into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He says “No” lowly, like it’s an admission of something he shouldn’t want. “Buck said we’re always welcome to stay and he’s making something tonight. Bobby hasn’t had time to teach him so he had to look it up.”

Eddie takes a second to respond, his mind too busy with the fact that he’s just realised it’s shampoo he can smell in Christopher’s hair.

In fact, he smells a little like soap in general; a soft scent under everything else even though his hair isn’t even a little bit damp. Eddie shelves it; decides it’s better to ask Buck than Christopher.

“Okay. How about you go gather your things and I’ll check with Buck if we can stay a bit?”

Christopher nods, eyes shining hopefully behind his glasses, and he wriggles in prompting to be put down. Eddie carefully sets him on the floor, watches as he heads off for the living room and then turns his gaze to the stairs.

Something about this as well feels different; even entertaining the thought of climbing up them in broad daylight when he knows it isn’t to drag Buck out of a depressed funk. He forces the thought aside, tells himself it’s an open loft so it doesn’t mean nearly the same thing, and steps up.

The loft is what he remembers from the first and only time he’s been up in it before; weeks ago just after the Tsunami. There’s a double bed planted in the open, headboard against the side wall and closets tucked into the walls between the huge factory-style windows that flood the space with angular light. Buck moved into the place and bought what he needed without much thought for anything more than that. Even if Eddie didn’t know it for himself, he’d be able to work out from looking around the apartment that it belongs to someone who doesn’t really plan to be in it much.

Buck might be on enforced light duties right now, and he might be reluctantly putting up with it, but even with fewer clocked hours and more time at home it affords him, he’s still made no real attempt to deck the place out.

Other than the things that have appeared since that morning.

There’s a hairdryer on the end of Buck’s bed that looks brand new. There’s at least three soaked towels hanging from the window sills, draping over the radiators. The low humming sound of the old boiler reverberates through the walls, and there’s a slight humidity in the elevation of the loft that tells Eddie the heating is on in the hopes of drying them out.

The door to the bathroom is open.

Eddie has a sudden, uncalled for skitter of not-quite fear that he won’t call thrill at the thought that Buck could be in the shower.

As soon as it bursts white hot across his brain, it’s gone again. Rationally, he knows it isn’t possible. The boiler might be on, but he can’t hear the water running behind the door and he knows Buck wouldn’t leave Christopher on his own for even that long at the moment.

Still.

He calls out instead of stepping any further.

There’s a loud bash, a gasp of what sounds like a curse and a small clatter before Buck appears.

He’s in sweatpants again, this time paired with a loose-fitting t-shirt that’s spattered with water, some larger drops and some a finer mist. The rest of him is dry, but Eddie finds attention narrowing in on the stiffness in Buck’s shoulders and the compulsive way he keeps pulling at the fabric; pinched little things every time the dampness lays across his stomach too long.

“Hey,” Buck says, with no forthcoming explanation of either the crashing noise or his wet clothing. “Chris downstairs?”

Eddie nods. “I told him to sort his stuff.”

Buck swallows once, and Eddie’s gaze jumps from his fingers at the hem of his shirt to the way his throat moves thickly right before he nods.

“Right, yeah,” Buck says. “Uh. He was great, by the way. As always, really. Um-”

“Actually,” Eddie interrupts, because something in his chest is suddenly constricting, painful, and there’s a feeling that’s slowly hollowing out his gut that says he can’t go, that Buck isn’t okay right now. “He said you were cooking, and last I heard you could only do breakfast, so this I have to see.”

A laugh startles out of him, but it doesn’t hide the way his shoulders slip with some kind of relief. He immediately pulls at his shirt again.

“Don’t mock until you’ve tried it,” he says. “Uh...let me just- finish this up and I’ll start. You guys make yourselves at home.”

Eddie tears his eyes away, looking pointedly along the wall at all the window alcoves taken up by towels. “I can’t help here?”

It’s Buck that he wants to help, he just doesn’t know how - whether Buck will let him, or if he even wants him to. The towels seem like a safer thing.

Buck shrugs. “I’m basically done.”

Eddie nods. “If you’re sure.” And he waits.

Buck stalls, which really says enough on it’s own, and then he jars into motion, head ducking and eyes skating across the floor like he’s not sure where to start.

“Actually-uh. Okay. One-...one second.”

He skirts around Eddie for the closet the far side of the bed, pulling it open and snatching a fresh t-shirt from inside. They are always changing clothes around each other without a second thought in the locker room at the firehouse, but there’s a flutter of awareness in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, and a prickling at the base of his spine when Buck hesitates, just for a moment before crossing his arms behind his head and tugging his shirt off from the back of his neck.

Eddie’s not sure if it’s just the location; the lack of professional, perfunctory boundaries set by the glass walled locker room at work, or whether one of them inadvertently brought this off-kilter edge here. He thinks it’s in Buck; the tiny moment of second-guessing that’s never happened in the station, like he thinks that he’s revealing something this time.

Eddie thinks he kind of is.

It says it all, in the way his whole frame relaxes the minute the damp shirt is thrown away. He rolls his shoulders like he’s shaking off the fixed stillness as though it was a heavy weight. There’s goosebumps on his skin; at the nape of his neck and spread down his back, either side of his spine like wings. They smooth out in the open air, muscle moving sleekly as Eddie watches him elbow his way efficiently into the new shirt.

The water bothers him more than he wants to let on.

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

Buck turns back to him like he’s bracing himself for an attack. Eddie raises his eyebrows in silence and breathes easier when Buck deflates, softens at the edges and lets his guard drop.

“This way,” he says, softly, nodding towards the bathroom again and leading the way inside.

Eddie follows.

It’s not a tiny room, and like the rest of the house, only has the necessities inside, but the walls do seem to fold in on him as Buck shuts the door on both of them.

“I don’t know if hearing this will upset him,” Buck says in explanation, right before, wincing, “Christopher...he said he hates bathtime.”

Eddie’s heart lurches.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Buck groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know you didn’t,” Eddie cuts him off, doesn’t need him to finish. “Buck, I know.”

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Buck said it to call him out.

“He struggles to shower, always has. We put hand rails in at home but it doesn’t help enough that he can be independent and he wants to do it all himself.”

Eddie’s proud of that. He is. Baths were never an issue; they can run the water so it isn’t too deep and then Chris is capable of doing most of it alone while Eddie learns how much distance he can give him, gradually, as the years pass. The only thing he still needs some help with is shampoo-

And that’s when his brain stalls.

“Did you...did you bath him?”

Buck bites at his lip and looks nothing short of anxious.

“Buck, I’m not- _ Dios _ \- I’m not mad. I’m- just...How? He hasn’t wanted to since-...since. And I get why he doesn’t want to - it doesn’t take much - but it’s just a lot to work through when we have to.”

“Well,” Buck hedges, and then pulls back the waterproof curtain that’s strung across the bathroom.

Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom is fitted with a sort of contemporary feel. It’s a wet room; the tiled floor sloping just slightly to a drain in the centre so there’s nowhere for water to pool and with the modesty curtain slid aside, Eddie can see-

Placed under the shower unit affixed to the wall with the spray head clasped low enough for a small child, is a plastic chair.

It’s the kind that people put in their back yards; wipe clean, waterproof. There’s space in Buck’s bathroom for it to sit comfortably on the floor - no worry of the constraints of a bathtub.

“We went out,” Buck says, voice careful and subdued from beside Eddie. “Got a few things. We- uh- used the towels on the floor. They soaked up the water so he wasn’t slipping.”

“And he was….okay?” Eddie’s still staring at the chair.

The pressure in his chest hurts, tears stabbing the backs of his eyes and this is so so simple but he hadn’t thought about it. It’s not possible at home, but he should have done more; thought about it more.

“We had to dry his hair as soon as he got out,” Buck says softly. Eddie knows that much; when he does wash Christopher’s hair, he does the same. He used to scrub it dry as much as possible and then leave the towel draped around his neck so there were no drips running down into his collar. Carla bought him his own hairdryer a couple of weeks ago. “But….yeah,” Buck says. “He was okay.”

Eddie half wants to know how this even came about. Buck wouldn’t have just...suggested it, and Christopher hasn’t voluntarily brought up bathtime since the wave. He can only figure that it came up because Buck’s been able to get Chris at least talking in passing. He’ll have to ask, but he’s still staring at the chair with frustration at himself burning in his bloodstream.

“I’m such an idiot,” he bites around the feeling of his throat closing up. “I didn’t even think-”

“Hey, no,” Buck says, instantly. His hand curls around Eddie’s shoulder, gently but firmly turning him from the shower stall. “You’re not, okay. This is...it’s just luck, Eddie. I don’t have a bathtub, and no handrails so I just- I thought I’d try another way. You’ve got a system that’s always worked. It’s only been a few weeks. And…”

Buck bites his lip, throwing a pinched look at the closed door as his hand falls away from Eddie’s shoulder. “He didn’t want to really tell you what was wrong because he knew you were doing what you could. And I don’t think he really knows what words to use to talk about it anyway.”

Eddie darts a look up at him, eyes colliding in the narrow space. “What makes you say that?”

Buck kinks his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Because he’s not really talking to me. Or, he’s not talking about what happened in his own way. I feel like I’m guessing a lot of it, and then when I say a word that he thinks feels right, he uses that.”

For an instant, Buck’s face flickers with the same expression of contrition that Chimney had worn a week ago; like he thinks he’s said too much, or that it wasn’t his to say. Eddie’s reminded indelicately of that moment and the fact that Buck hasn’t been sleeping even when they don’t call him at night.

Buck might just be guessing, but they’re clearly hitting home, guided by shared perspective. Maybe his trauma is a different shape to Christopher’s, though more and more Eddie thinks they’re not so far apart, but he still uniquely understands the fear and the fallout, enough to find words for them that Chris can’t.

“Aquaphobia,” Eddie says.

Buck flinches. Then he nods.

It’s in the night it rained and the way Christopher clamped his hands over his ears, the way he won’t put milk on cereal any more and can’t stand the slippery texture of scrambled eggs. Eddie knows it in the way he couldn’t handle his own wet hair or the feeling of sitting in bathwater and the way the sound of cars was too acute, too close to a newfound source of fear.

He knew what it was even while his mind closed him off from assembling all the pieces and naming it. But intimidating as it is, there’s also a swell of relief in finally saying it out loud. Christopher’s the one living with this demon - Buck, too. The least he can do is carry the name of it.

“I need to…” Eddie looks back at the shower.

He needs to gut the bathroom at home, start over, make it safe. He has to get more wet wipes, more towels, cups with lids-

“Yeah, okay, and we can do all of that,” Buck says, like Eddie had said any of it out loud, but Buck just...knows. “I’ll help. I’m there. Whatever you need. I got you.”

Eddie looks up at him knowing there aren’t enough ways he can say thank you for the selfless conviction in his voice. He doesn't know who moves first, but then Buck's hugging him tightly, and he's hugging back, fingers knotted in the back of Buck's shirt and he feels more solid than he has in a while.

“I got you both,” Buck promises, and then he breathes out, pulls back, offering a smile. “Let’s start with food. I’m still making dinner.”

.

Eddie tries to jury-rig the bathroom at home.

For almost a week he tries to see if he can get something to work; a chair small enough, a stool with enough support, a way of running the shower without water pooling in the tub despite the towels he lays down. Christopher endures it the way he usually does but Eddie hates himself for putting him through it. So as the weekend hits, he starts looking into getting the room redone.

The house has disability permissions, and an understanding landlord, which makes it easier to get things underway even if Carla says it might not be possible to get help with funding.

“They’ll get out of paying anything they can,” she says in a long-suffering tone as Eddie walks her out to her car one night. “You’d have to make a strong case for mental or emotional trauma inhibiting him even more than his normal physical disabilities and there’s a lot of grey areas with a lot of red tape. I’m good at the red tape but even I have my limits with the grey.”

Eddie nods and accepts her usual hug. “I get it,” he says, releasing her. “Thanks. I’ll just see what I can do without it.”

Chimney thinks it’s an awesome idea.

“Man, that’s awesome,” he says, shaking head like he can’t believe it as he loads up his plate with bacon. “You can get it fitted with those pressure jets and humidifiers - maybe one of those rain things where they fix them in the ceiling-”

“What are you talking about?” Hen demands, rolling her eyes and slapping his hand off the fork before he takes all the servings. “He wants a shower, not a car wash.”

“It is a shower,” Chimney says indignantly. “Cap, back me up here?”

Bobby pulls a face over the frying pan he’s rattling on the stove. “Sounds like you should get your own new shower,” he says.

Chimney groans. “I wish. Thankfully, I get to use Maddie’s.”

Eddie smirks, plucking a new fork from the cutlery bucket in the middle of the table. “Using her for her shower, I think there’s a rule about that somewhere....”

“Like you can talk,” Chimney shoots.

Eddie opens his mouth, not even sure what the response to that is. He’s spared having to find one.

The alarm goes off, blaring across the firehouse loft, red lights spinning in the ceiling and throwing whirling patterns across the main floor. It’s a deafening blast that sings as it cuts through the conversation. The baleful blare echoes in Eddie’s pulse as it skitters between his ribs.

“You gotta be kidding,” Hen says mournfully as she pushes her barely touched plate away and heads to the firepole.

“Wrap it up,” Bobby calls, turning off the stove. “Let’s head out!”

Chimney gulps half a glass of juice down and forgoes the firepole. He runs for the stairs, still carrying his paper plate of bacon and swoops around Lena without pausing.

She spins on the spot to watch him go, and then wheels back, eyebrows raised.

“Is it always like this?”

Eddie shoots Bobby a glance, only to find Bobby looking right back at him. There’s something in his face; a distance behind his eyes like he’s looking at a memory instead, one that’s tugging at him. But then it’s gone and he smiles as he tosses a tea towel down on the counter.

“Pretty much,” he says.

Eddie drops down the closest firepole and doesn’t listen to the reply.

.

The landlord gives the okay, the plans come together and Eddie gets the work started. The bathroom becomes a no-go zone in the house for a week as the fitting company tear it up.

The air puffs with chalky clouds as they break the old bath away from the wall, there’s high pitched buzzing for hours on end as they use a diamond saw out on the front lawn to cut new tiles, and there’s a thick, cloying smell that hangs around as they start grouting and sealing. The workers are given strict access hours so Eddie can make sure Christopher is out. He doesn’t need the upheaval of experiencing the chaos, and it means the fitters don’t have to worry about him.

Christopher doesn’t mind it. For a week he spends every day at Buck’s. When Buck has work, Carla arrives at his apartment door instead with all her usual promptness, making quick work of learning the kitchen as Buck and Eddie both say their goodbyes and leave. Christopher shows her where everything is, gathers the mail for when Buck gets home, explains which hook by the door is for his backpack and navigates it all happily without his crutches. Buck leaves breakfast out for him every morning and one afternoon brings a pizza home with him. It’s been demolished by the time Eddie finishes his shift but Christopher is quite happy to tell him that it existed.

Christopher and Eddie practice with Buck’s bathroom; learning how to arrange the towels and chair so he feels as safe as he can, even if they only turn it on twice.

For a week, Eddie showers at Buck’s too, after a single attempt at the firehouse has the water turning cold on him inside of a minute.

When the workmen finish up at the house and drive away for the last time, Eddie spends the evening reorienting himself in his new bathroom.

He’s managed to get hold of dimpled floor tiles that have an almost porous feel, and disability surveyors came through at least enough to supply him with an anchored folding chair underneath the shower unit so Christopher can pull it out himself.

Buck and Carla have dinner with them the next night so Christopher can show it off.

He might be still wary of using it; that doesn’t go away so simply, but Eddie’s at least a little relieved that he’s finding some kind of positivity in the whole thing.

.

So, naturally, Christopher wakes up screaming two nights later.

Eddie stumbles out of his bed in the dark, blindly reaching for his phone as he goes.

Chris is still screaming when he reaches him, and it’s a little jarring to the nervous system. He’s been better. Not great, not okay, but there’s been improvement; more nights where he doesn’t wake up, and even the nights when he does, not so much with this old blind terror. If he can’t get back to sleep, he crawls in next to Eddie. Sometimes being cuddled for a while is enough and he retreats back to bed yawning. A couple of times he’s stayed until morning. The screaming nightmares have been slowly distancing out.

Eddie knows it’s not done with; that there’s still a lot Chris is trying to process and won’t talk about, but even so, the screams feel like a setback.

Eddie reaches for him, pulling the blankets away on autopilot even though Christopher doesn’t even seem to be aware of them. Eddie knows from experience that as soon as he comes down, they’ll start to feel suffocating again.

“Hey, hey, Chris-Christopher, it’s okay, Buddy, I’m here. You’re okay, just breathe.”

The aimless talking is like calling up muscle memory. It doesn’t even take thought, and he knows the words barely matter until he’s calmer anyway. Like this, Chris is still half asleep, seeing his dreams and not his bedroom.

“Hurts,” he manages after several long moments, his voice shredded as Eddie rocks him slowly, hand rubbing into his back. “It hur-ts. My chest. All the w-ater. I don’t like it, Daddy, I don’t-don’t- Bucky, where’s Buck?”

He appears to forget the memory of the pain, eyes flying wide as he fixes on this new, more pressing issue.

“Buck’s at home, _ Mijo _,” Eddie murmurs. “Remember? You were with him a few days ago.”

“He got taken away again,” Chris says, shaking his head, like he thinks Eddie doesn’t have the facts right. “The water took him away.”

“When was that?”

“When the wave came,” Chris hiccups. “Just now. He was gone and it was just me.”

“I know you got split up,” Eddie says softly, “but he’s fine, and so are you.”

He knows that Christopher thinks Buck saved him; that he remembers it unerringly, despite how much time passes. When he’s awake, that’s something he’s sure of. But Eddie also knows, through these recurring nightmares, that there’s embedded trauma there of the time they were separated, of the actual moment that they were ripped apart. Eddie isn’t sure how to begin tackling that; not when Chris doesn’t want to talk about it - or, as Buck suspects - isn’t even sure how to start.

Maybe none of them really know how to start healing. They’re all just stumbling along hoping they’re moving in the right direction and pulling each other from the edge when they drift too far.

“I want to talk to him,” Chris sobs. He’s raking at his face again, the tears tracked down his cheeks, raising red lines in his already flushed skin as he does. “Please. Please, I want to talk to Bucky, please, Dad, he was gone.”

“Easy, Kid,” Eddie says, firmly coaxing his hands down and wiping the tears away himself. He reaches for his phone, fallen on the bed beside them. “We can call him right now, okay?”

Christopher is still sobbing, taking in deep, heaving breaths, the occasional hiccup wracking his chest. As soon as the call connects after two rings and Buck’s voice spills through the speaker, Chris bursts into tears and stretches forwards.

Buck’s greeting morphs mid-word.

“He-is that Chris? What- is he-”

“I’m clearly not needed,” Eddie says, somehow, despite everything, able to smile. “Here.”

He hands it over to Christopher.

He was at least smart enough to turn up the volume again after last time.

“Chris? Christopher, hey, Buddy, can you hear me? Hey, I’m here. You don’t have to cry. You think you can breathe for me?”

Chris manages a staccato nod, his hands tight around the phone and takes a few exaggerated breaths, hiccups leaping out of him as his heart settles. 

“That’s it. Keep breathing,” Buck says, apparently listening for signs that he’s calming down. “There we go. You think you can tell me what woke you up?”

Christopher hesitates, then slowly says in a scraped voice, “Just remembering.”

“What’d you remember?”

“My chest hurt,” he says again. “And you.”

There’s trepidation in Buck’s voice when he asks “Me?”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut - wishes just a little that he could be on the other end of the phone too, that he could try to protect him from the answer.

Chris says, “You put me on the firetruck. Then you got taken by the water. I lost you.”

Eddie hears Buck’s intake of breath; the hitch of a sob in his lungs, muffled where the speaker is pressed to Christopher’s cheek, and feels his heart crack.

“No, Kid,” Buck replies. “I lost _ you _. I’m so sorry.”

Christopher hums into the phone. His hiccups have spaced right out finally; his small body no longer leaping under Eddie’s hands quite so much. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs.

Eddie recognises the particular silence that follows all too well. Buck isn’t easily convinced out of guilt; Eddie has been trying longer than Christopher has. Predictably, Buck picks a tangent rather than acknowledging it.

“What about your chest? That doesn’t hurt any more, does it?”

“No.”

“Was it just that? Your chest and thinking I was gone?”

There’s a pause that fills up the room, spilling into the shadowed corners of it before Christopher whispers like he’s sharing a secret, “I don’t want you to be gone.”

Eddie lays a kiss in his hair, squeezing him tightly, grounding himself with the feeling of his son’s defiant heartbeat pounding through his ribs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Buck promises. “I’ll see you again soon.”

“Okay,” Christopher hums. His grip on the phone has relaxed and the tear stains on his face have dried into tight, shiny tracks. He yawns widely; the crying combined with Buck talking down the adrenaline rush have left him close to crashing. He’s no longer rigid on Eddie’s lap, but pliant and starting to sway.

“Come on,” Eddie says quietly. “We should let Buck sleep, too.”

Chris nods, eyes drooping. He yawns again into the handset. “I have to---go.”

“I know,” Buck replies. “Night, Buddy. We’ll talk soon.”

Christopher nods, a tiny noise catching in the back of his throat before he mumbles drowsily, “I love you, Buck.”

His fingers slip on the phone as his eyes slip closed and Eddie catches it, laying a kiss onto Christopher’s forehead.

There’s a long pause on the phone, the awe in the silence completely unlike the guilty blank space from before, and finally there’s a choked, “Love you too, Kid”.

Eddie lefts the phone up to his ear as Christopher smiles, his breathing easing out in his chest.

“He heard you,” Eddie manages to say. He feels a bit choked up himself; the words forcing past a burst of glowing affection deep at the base of his throat that it’s suddenly difficult to breathe around.

“Is he asleep?” Buck asks, thick and watery and Eddie thinks he might be in tears.

Eddie glances down. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Was it bad?”

He sighs. “Hold on.”

Buck waits quietly on the line as Eddie lays Christopher back down, drapes the blanket over him without tucking it in, and retreats from the room. He’s already back in his own bed before it occurs to him that maybe he should have stayed up, since he doesn’t plan on hanging up just yet.

Is talking to Buck in the dark, in his bed, without Christopher as a buffer crossing a line? Does he even know where any of the lines are any more? Does he care?

(Maybe that’s the more important question).

It’s too late now, though.

“It was kinda bad,” Eddie says without any preface because he knows Buck is still there. “Screaming, crying, saying his chest hurt again, and then when he remembered you...that was all he wanted.”

“You know he only asks for me because I’m connected to it and I’m _ not _ there, right?” Buck says. “You’ve never not been there when he’s had a nightmare, but I guarantee you, if you weren’t, you’re the person he’d ask for.”

Eddie can’t help feeling a little mollified in spite of himself; at the hope Buck’s always giving him that it doesn’t mean he’s letting Chris down. Still. He doesn’t need the reassurance; not like that.

“I don’t need him to want me,” he says. “I need him to know that he can ask for help, whatever or whoever that is.”

“You’re doing a tough thing,” Buck sighs, because there’s really no easy words to answer that. He clears his throat and then continues, “I had a thought about his chest. He had to hold his breath a lot, and swim really hard, and I can almost guarantee he swallowed a fair bit of seawater. The strain on his lungs, his diaphragm, and the salt in his stomach…”

His voice gets rougher as it tails off, but he doesn’t have to finish.

“I thought that, too,” Eddie replies. He rolls his shoulder back into the pillows, feeling it lock from holding the phone to his ear. “They’re symptoms you recognise?”

He’s still trying, for the most part, not to push Buck but it’s the middle of the night, his son is back asleep and Eddie’s still worried about his best friend, who’s still answering calls at three am like he was already awake.

He’s really expecting Buck to deflect it, but maybe he isn’t the only one of them who’s starting to feel like things don’t count when they’re said in the dark.

“I had them, too,” Buck says quietly. “Probably not as badly, if just because of age or training or- I don’t know. But for hours after...it felt like I was burning whenever I breathed, felt like my ribs were too tight all the time. I couldn’t drink water even though I was dehydrated because I could feel it hit my stomach and nearly threw it straight back up.”

“Buck-”

“It’s okay. It’s over,” Buck says, cutting off his concern with a humourless exhale that might have been intended as a laugh. “I’m fine, Ed.”

The nickname half startles him for a second as it sinks into the hollow of his collarbone and lays itself out, warm and pulsing over his heart. Eddie swallows, carefully; doesn’t want to upset the balance of it, but he finds it’s not so easily moved. The weight of it, two small letters, stays as he breathes.

“Are you fine, though?” he asks. He’s breaking the rules but he suddenly doesn’t quite care. “It’s okay not to be, you know that better than anyone.”

Buck draws in a shaky breath.

Eddie keeps going. “I’m not telling you to do anything or say anything. I know better. I’m just saying...it’s okay if you’re not. And we’re here for you, too. You know that.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You have enough going on,” Buck says finally, “without worrying about me, too.”

Eddie frowns. “Okay, hey, no. That’s not what this is- it’s not- I’m not just using you to talk my kid back to sleep. It works both ways.” Buck is still quiet, so he says, “You know I worry that letting you talk to Chris like this is hurting you?”

It’s something that’s been in the back of his mind for weeks, since the beginning. Buck just keeps giving and Eddie lets him because they both seem to want to talk to each other, but it’s been a shadow on his conscience.

He hears springs creak and crack down the phone and some dark rush flares down his spine at knowing Buck just sat up in his own bed.

“Eddie, no, wait-”

“You’re helping him, I know that,” Eddie says. “But is talking him through it helping you or making it worse?”

_ When’s the last time you slept a full night? _He doesn’t ask it.

“Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck insists. There’s something gravelly and desperate in his voice. “Don’t-don’t- It helps, okay? Talking to him helps me, too. It helps when I wake up and the last thing in my head is him getting torn away from me. Or all the times I wake up and I can’t breathe because I just see his glasses floating there or sometimes it’s _ him- _”

Horror lances between Eddie’s ribs like someone’s stuck a hot knife there.

“Evan,” he says thickly, hoping the use of his real name will cut through to him. Buck sucks in a breath and Eddie forces aside the sudden irrational twist of nerves in his stomach. He shouldn’t be nervous. It’s just a name, but he hears Buck’s breathing catch and it feels like more. “I’m not going to stop you talking to Christopher. I’m just saying I’m not just here for him. I get to be worried about you, too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Buck says thinly. “But you don’t have to be.”

Eddie thinks about calling him out on it, but he’s pushed enough already, broken enough rules.

So he just nods to himself. “That’s my choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone actually got a guess what the original 5+1 for this was meant to be? Haha.
> 
> Also the 4 chapters for this is a guess, really. I'm not totally sure of it, I'm just breaking up the fic where it seems to flow best. When it's all up it's probably better read in one piece anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's left comments and kudos. Hope you keep enjoying!
> 
> Updated the estimated chapters a bit. I'm not too sure honestly how many it'll be - I'm just breaking up the doc as I proofread it based on where it flows best. But It won't be 4 so. Let's go with 6 and see what happens
> 
> ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Eddie carries the conversation with him into work the next day, not quite able to leave it behind, in the dark where it should belong.

It sits in the back of his mind as they dash out on calls, wash down the trucks and take inventory - wondering if Buck is sleeping, if he’s eating enough. He’s used to it now, the ache of the worry, like pressing on a constant bruise.

“Are _ you _ sleeping enough?” Bobby asks him the day after that, hanging back in the locker room after half an hour in the gym. He’s wearing his concerned dad expression, not his captain one, and Eddie sighs as he pulls a fresh t-shirt down over his head.

“I’m doing okay,” he says. “I’m not waking up automatically every night even when Chris sleeps through. When I do, I can usually get straight back to sleep if his room is quiet. It’s just the other nights that we’re still juggling.” Eddie isn’t sure if the we means him and Christopher, or if that includes Buck somehow, and he’s glad when Bobby doesn’t ask. “Sometimes he’s awake for an hour or more, sometimes I can coax him back to sleep quicker.”

“And how are you handling it?” Bobby sinks onto a free bench, hands together between his knees. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know. I just...try to leave it outside,” Eddie shrugs and flicks his locker shut. “I don’t have the nightmares. I can’t even imagine what it was like; what this is like still for either of them.” It’s the first real allusion to Buck being a part of it and Bobby’s eyebrows rise. Still he says nothing. “I feel helpless, sometimes,” Eddie admits. “Knowing there’s things I can’t do for them, some part of it that I can’t reach. But what am I gonna do?” he turns from the locker and squares his shoulders. “Not be there? I can deal with losing some sleep; I’m not losing it like they are. What’s harder is…”

“The inaction,” Bobby fills in. Quiet understanding clouds his tone, but his voice is firm; it’s not offering any kind of platitude, just honesty, and that sets like steel under Eddie’s skin. “It’s hard to watch the people we love suffer and know that we can’t do anything to help it go away, that sometimes, all we can do is be there and give them time.” Bobby curls his shoulders and leans forwards. “Just don’t get so caught up in being there when they’re vulnerable that you can’t let yourself really be there when they’re happy.”

Bobby stands and pats him on the shoulder before heading out.

Eddie finds those words turning in his head for the rest of his shift. He says his goodbyes when he’s done for the day, throwing a thank you over at Bobby before heading straight to Buck’s place.

It’s like the universe conspired with Bobby to remind him.

Christopher lets him in wearing the brightest smile and still in a fit of giggles. Buck is laughing in the kitchen, which has been repurposed and looks somewhere between a nuclear test site and Dr Jekyll’s lab. There’s a handful of different beakers and mismatched glasses spread out on the counter top. An open packet of baking soda and a cheap branded bottle of white vinegar sit on the centre counter, abandoned in favour of a jar of dry yeast and-

Yeah. That’s bleach. Or, it’s actually also unbranded hydrogen peroxide, but...same thing.

A geizer of thick, glutinous foam in a lurid purple colour has expanded out of one of the glass tumblers by the stove, firing up into the air where it’s hit the underside of the wall cupboards before ricocheting back down and going near enough everywhere.

The white doors are high velocity spatter stained and the coagulating plume of foam sprawls across the counter, the size of an Anaconda. It breaks over the edge with a texture like cotton candy and continues along the floor tiles. It looks like someone tried to catch it in the trash can, based on the way it’s coiled inside and overflowing sluggishly.

Eddie snaps a picture of the chaos before starting to ask questions.

“Carla suggested it,” Buck explains later, when they’ve cleaned up the kitchen and themselves and they’ve all played rock, paper, scissors for what food to order in. “She thought some science experiments might get him more comfortable with the kitchen - handling glasses and measuring stuff even if he doesn’t want to carry liquids. They’re all totally safe and she thought the foam one would be good for him. So we just went to the store.”

Christopher is ensconced with cartoons in the living room and not listening to them at all.

“Sounds like you had a fun day,” Eddie says. “Kind of wish I hadn’t missed it.”

Buck throws him a smile as he shuts off the tap on a sink full of all the glasses relegated to experiment duty. He’s been careful to lay them all in the sink as it filled up without really touching the water at all, and there’s a thick pair of dish-washing gloves hanging by a spice rack, the colour faded with repeated use. Buck may either hide it or just cope with it better, but it’s visible in the small things that he still carries the Tsunami with him in his own aquaphobia, too.

“You can be here for the next one,” Buck says, hanging up a tea towel.

Eddie slides off the kitchen stool he’s been occupying and gently shifts around Buck to reach the sink. He picks up the scouring cloth and dunks it in the soapy water.

“You don’t have t-”

“I know,” Eddie says, fishing a purple-stained beaker from the suds as he meets Buck’s gaze. His blue eyes are troubled, his brow furrowed and he wavers at Eddie’s shoulder, like he can’t decide if he wants to step away or not. “But somehow my Healthcare Aide and my son managed to land you all this washing up, so I figure I can at least do some of it.”

He can see the moment that Buck chooses to let it go, the tiny shimmer of relief in his face that almost immediately makes him scowl at himself afterwards.

“I got it,” Eddie says, quiet and firm.

Buck leans back against the counter out of reach of the draining board and folds his arms. There’s the very start of a bruise high on his bicep where he said he almost dropped the trashcan earlier after trying to catch the foamy explosion in it. “The Healthcare Aide that I introduced you to,” he points out as Eddie gets on with scrubbing the glasses clean. “So really maybe this is my own fault.”

Eddie snorts. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to blame it on you if anyone asks.”

There’s a knock at the door and Christopher yells at them that the food is here. Buck throws Eddie a smirk and goes to fetch it.

He gets so tied up in the evening that the day at work mostly drifts from his mind.

They eat Thai food out of the little white boxes, sharing them around in front of the TV. Christopher uses a pair of connected learning chopsticks that Buck had in the kitchen for the easy bites. Buck is actually really dexterous with a normal pair, which somehow doesn’t fit the image Eddie had of him as someone who would be more liable to poke his own eye out than successfully eat jasmine rice with them.

It’s fun, in an easy, undemanding way; not like a day out or even a trip to see his parents which more often than not feels like being scrutinised. Instead, the hours fall away from them. Buck gets them both a beer, and supplies Christopher with a fruit smoothie in a cup with a lid and it’s dark out the next time Eddie looks up.

“I get if you want him home in his own bed,” Buck says, clearing away the takeaway containers. “But if you don’t want to drive, you can both crash here.”

Eddie looks away from Christopher, curled up and drowsy half on a beanbag in front of the muted TV. It’s a beanbag that Buck didn’t own a month ago. “Do you even have space?”

Buck hesitates a second, then says, “My bed is big enough for both of you. And he might sleep better than on his own since it’s not as familiar.” Eddie lifts an eyebrow at him and Buck shrugs with forced casualness. “It’s not like I sleep well most nights anyway. The couch folds out. I’ll be fine.”

Buck’s only said it so frankly because they both know that Eddie already knows it’s true.

Eddie glances back towards Christopher, warring with himself. Just because Buck is already not sleeping well isn’t really a good reason to take his bed off of him, but he’s also reluctant to leave after the past few hours. Something about going home and flicking on the lights in the empty house feels...bereft.

If it will feel like that for him, with Christopher in tow, he wonders how it might feel for Buck; to be suddenly alone in the empty apartment knowing sleep doesn’t come easy.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay with it,” Eddie decides. “And I’ll need to set an alarm early.”

Buck nods, gesturing vaguely with a pair of chopsticks. “Sure, yeah. I mean, you can use the shower and I still have all my LAFD shirts if you need to borrow one - until you get to your spare kit in the firehouse. I already have Chris tomorrow so I’ll just have to sort out some clean clothes for him…”

“I’ll leave my keys,” Eddie says, and he realises as he does that barring Christopher really wanting to go home, he’s already decided. “You and Chris can head over to the house when you’re ready and pack him a bag or something.”

Buck blinks at him for a moment like he thinks he misheard. “Right- that- that works.”

“Do you...uh- do you need to get anything or should I carry him up?”

Buck starts. “Oh. No, take him up. Bed’s made new so just pull out the corners of the blankets so he can’t get stuck in them. I’ll get you another pillow.”

He heads off and Eddie watches him go, suddenly wondering if he’s going to be able to sleep at all and knowing it won’t come from nightmares if he doesn’t.

Buck’s already making pancakes when Eddie wakes up. 

He’s padding silently around the stove, already in jeans but wearing a long-sleeved henley that sits lightly over his shoulders as he moves pans around. He offers an apologetic half shrug and says he did sleep for most of the night before handing Eddie a plate. The couch is at least still pulled out into a bed with the cushions and blankets looking like they’ve been slept in. Christopher stirs not long after and Buck waves Eddie towards the bathroom, pointing at the clock while he goes to help Chris down the stairs.

Christopher didn’t wake up once during the night and he’s happily seated himself at the kitchen table in his wrinkled t-shirt and jeans eating his own serving of pancakes when Eddie comes back down from the loft. Buck slides him a cup of coffee and he has just enough time to drink it while he stops to thread off the house key from the rest of his set. He hands it to Buck and kisses Christopher on the head.

“Be good,” he says. “Make sure you brush your teeth when you stop at home, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” Christopher says, muffled with sleep, fork halfway to his mouth. “Bye. Love you.”

“Love you, too, _ Mijo _.”

“He’ll tell you where all his things are,” Eddie says to Buck at the door. “Have fun. Just-”

“Inland,” Buck smirks. “Got it. Go.”

It’s scary how it feels like a life he could get all too used to.

.

Hen is practically bouncing when Eddie climbs wearily up the steps to the firehouse loft after re-rolling the hoseline onto the truck and checking all the psi in the tyres.

He side-eyes her slightly dubiously and reaches for the box of pastries on their usual gift-food table. He makes a mental note to pack one for Buck before Chimney can snatch up the rest.

“Good news?” he asks. “The IVF?”

Hen’s expression flickers at that and Eddie immediately regrets it.

“A work in progress,” she says. “No good news or bad news just yet. No, I was actually thinking-”

“Oof,” Eddie winces, breaking into a smile when Hen elbows him. “I’m listening.”

“It’s just been a bit quiet lately, and we’ve all been tied up with our stuff so I ran it past Bobby and - we’re thinking we all get together and have dinner. The team and families. Bobby can cook, the kids can chill out...What do you think?”

Eddie finds himself nodding. “Yeah, it’s been a while. When?”

Hen’s smile widens. It looks just slightly alarming. “Tonight.”

Eddie starts mentally calculating how long he has to fetch Christopher and probably give Buck a ride too for them to be ready in time and that’s when Hen throws in one more thing.

“At Buck’s, actually. Bobby suggested we surprise him and all show up after work. I know we all keep in touch and he sees Bobby sometimes, and you have your thing but it’s been a while since it was all of us together, you know? So we thought…”

Eddie chews on his pastry in silence, his brain sputtering along with the information dump.

It does kind of sound like fun. There’s also something in there about another evening in Buck’s apartment that’s the kind of appealing he’s not looking too closely at.

“You in?” Hen asks.

Eddie smirks. “Well my kid is at his place right now and I have to get him eventually.”

“Another day with Buck?” Hen smiles. There’s no insinuation in her tone now; just a gentle kind of fondness.

Eddie doesn’t add that there was a night involved too. “Yeah,” he says.

“You’re in, though,” Hen says, clapping her hands together. “I’ll tell Bobby. We’re all heading there after we finish up. And don’t tell Buck.”

Eddie tells Buck.

Chimney and Maddie are already outside when Eddie pulls up across the street from Buck’s place.

Maddie balances a pie on one hand - both of Chimney’s jump up warily, just in case it tips - so that she can wave as Eddie jogs across the road.

“Eddie,” she smiles, warmth shining through the crinkles in the corners of her eyes. “How are you doing?”

Eddie can’t help noticing how hopelessly fond of her Chimney looks, his expression glowing, eyes trapped on her face as he holds open the door.

“I’m okay- good,” Eddie amends as they all step through.

“Buck said Chris was still adjusting a bit.”

Which is such a mild way of saying it that Eddie it’s pretty sure that it’s all Buck has told her.

“Yeah, he’s working through it.” Which actually reminds Eddie - “Is Buck still texting you at night?”

Maddie tilts her head a little as they take the stairs, Chimney leading the way and listening in.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says quickly, throwing up his hands without looking back.

Maddie gives him an equally fond look, rolling her eyes before she turns back to Eddie.

“Hm, no, not really. It was a few times at first but nothing really for a couple of weeks now. We meet up when we can so I see him a bit. I know that he’s not fully back where he was - I mean, it’s a lot to come back from, what he went through. And to think I thought he was nowhere near it the whole time-”

That’s a retrospective horror that Eddie understands completely.

“Anyway,” Maddie shakes herself. “He’s doing better. I can see that.” She shoots him a careful glance and then waits until Chimney has led them out of the stairwell to hang a step back and say, lowly, “I think we have you and Christopher to thank for that. You’re doing so much for him. Thank you.”

Eddie’s breath snatches in his lungs and the door almost closes on his face.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, darting out of its way at the last second.

“All the same,” Maddie smiles softly, balancing her pie again to reach out and squeeze his arm, and then hurries along to Buck’s door.

There’s a gathering already outside of it.

Hen has an arm around Karen as the two of them sway, quietly murmuring to each other. Athena has one eye on the kids and another on the end of the hall, with all the shrewdness Eddie’s come to expect of her. Bobby’s there too, at her shoulder with two full shopping bags of ingredients and May is holding a third while Harry and Denny seem to be locked in an intense debate.

“Aw, you waited for us?” Chimney says sweetly.

“Yeah, so hurry up and get over here,” Hen barks, lifting her head from Karen’s shoulder. “We wanna eat.”

Athena rolls her eyes and knocks firmly on the door.

Buck yells from inside, “It’s open!”

Bobby darts a look around at the team. Maddie copies him. Athena’s eyes narrow even further and she turns the handle.

The team spill into the entryway and Eddie finds himself bringing up the rear, closing the door behind them before he looks up.

Buck and Christopher are both in the kitchen amid pots and pans, but there at least seems to be more organisation than when Eddie walked into a very similar scene the previous day. At least there’s no violet explosions. There’s a system of some sort; Buck laying out pots by size while Chris, standing on a stool next to a handrail so he can reach, arranges condiment bottles and jars of herbs in neat rows next to the stove.

“Oh, hey!” Buck calls. “Wow, all of you? This is crazy.”

Christopher tries to hide his smile behind a bottle of cooking oil as he prods it into position.

Hen’s head jerks back and waves of deeply unimpressed exasperation practically roll off of her. “Who told you?”

Buck blinks innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Chris and I were just making dinner. Only we seem to be lacking most of the ingredients.”

Karen giggles into the side of Hen’s neck and May smiles as she weaves past her mother to the front of the group to see better. Buck winks at her.

“Alright, no, we’re doing this properly,” Bobby says. He hands off his two bags to Denny and Harry, pointing them towards the kitchen table and then moves straight towards Buck and Christopher, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. The others remain gathered in the doorway like a car pileup.

Buck smiles gleefully, stepping back from the pans on the stovetop and crowing in triumph as he does so. “Alright, now we get to see a professional at work.”

He scoops up Christopher from his perch on the stool and makes to set him down on the floor to clear room, but Bobby holds up his hands. They’re all too well trained, because Buck stops mid-movement, Christopher giggling in his arms.

“I didn’t say that,” Bobby says, his stern father expression twitching into a smile at the edges. “I’m not doing all the work, here. Wash up. You’re all getting jobs to do.”

Eddie feels his heart drop an entire beat and then some, before staggering back into some semblance of a pulse as the exact same look of faked petulance settles on Buck and Christopher’s faces in the same breath. Buck sets him back on the stool and Christopher breaks first, beaming as he holds out his hands for Buck to hand him a wet wipe.

The small gathering in the doorway has gone astonishingly silent and Eddie doesn’t dare glance back at them. There’s a twist of affection in his chest so sharp he thinks he could cut himself open on it, and if he did, he’d spill blood that ran gold. He can’t help thinking of Chimney’s expression when he’d looked at Maddie outside and wonders if his looks anything like it. The implication sits tight and airless in his bones.

Bobby doesn’t mention the wet wipe, or say anything about using the sink. He just starts inspecting the rows of bottles and praising Christopher on a job well done, crowning him his official right hand man. He crowns Buck the official “anything but the taste tester” in a voice that’s so paternal Buck visibly falters over it before managing to be insulted.

“Come on,” Bobby calls to the rest of them. “This is a family exercise, let’s go. Everyone wash up and find a job - leave the knives to the adults.”

“Our Captain, the chef,” Chimney says grandly, shoving up his own shirt sleeves and dropping a kiss on Maddie’s cheek as he heads for the sink.

Athena rolls her eyes, fighting the smile in the corners of her mouth. “My husband, the task master,” she scoffs, but follows Chimney without complaint.

Maddie sets down her pie and gives Buck a one-armed hug across the corner of the kitchen table, murmuring quietly to him.

Eddie tears his eyes away and sneaks his way around them to give Christopher a hug without unbalancing him from his stool.

“Hey, Kid, you have a good day?”

“Yes,” Christopher says. “We went home, and to the store and Buck pushed me on the swings. Go wash up, Dad.”

Bobby snorts, already up to his elbows in organising pans and adjusting heat settings.

Eddie holds his hands up in surrender and obediently heads to join the line at the sink.

.

Four days later, Eddie watches Christopher and the doctor through the glass window from the little clinical observation room. It smells of plastic and antiseptic, the sage green walls covered in posters for childcare and health checks. Eddie hasn’t read a word of them, never does, too preoccupied with what’s happening in front of him.

He isn’t sure what to look for as a psychologist, but he knows what he can see as a father.

Christopher keeps his eyes down, drawing with a guarded sort of ferocity at the small table in the consulting room. He’s curled over the pages and the crayons roll free around him, some bumping into the stationery pot and a few fallen between the legs of his chair. He’s using a lot of the blue one; it’s already shorter than the others and the craft pages bleed indigo onto his arms.

He’s also pulled the toy firetruck from the play box in the far corner, stationing it and three small action figures across himself on the table where they form a barrier against the world.

The doctor sits opposite him, folded up with his knees near his chest, to fit on one of the little coloured chairs. His white coat touches the floor and his stethoscope hangs around his neck. He’s not going to use it; there’s no need to check Christopher’s heart, and Eddie thinks that it must be some kind of doctor-conspiracy that they just all have to wear them for the aesthetic.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he watches the doctor talk quietly, inaudible through the window. He wasn’t expecting anyone to contact him but as he pulls it out, he’s unsurprised to see Buck’s name on the screen.

Something uncoils in Eddie’s stomach, and there’s a leach of tension down the back of his neck as he swipes the green button.

“Oh-” Buck answers, words stalling. “Hey, are you done already? I thought the appointment was now?”

“He’s in with the doctor at the minute,” Eddie says. “I’m just...waiting. To find out where I’m fucking up.”

He says it lightly, but Buck can evidently still hear the thread of concern that Eddie can’t wish away.

“You’re not fucking up,” he says, and he’s said it before but he says it again with the same patience. “You have to believe that.”

“Maybe I will when you start believing it’s not your fault,” Eddie says glibly, a weary smile pulling at his mouth.

Buck makes a pressed sound. “Point taken. Anyway, I was going to say this to your voicemail but...uh, my doctor scheduled to see me tomorrow so - I mean - can still take Chris, I just...I get if you don’t want him to have to wait in the hospital with me for an hour and-”

Eddie barely hears the last half. “Doctor? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s...kind of a review? The blood thinners. I think they’re just running a few tests so they can maybe get a more solid date for me to come off them. You know, if it all comes back okay.”

Eddie tips his head back, pulling in a breath as he slumps against the wall. “Buck, that’s great. Light duty still driving you crazy, huh?”

Buck half laughs, the sound muffled. “You know it. And, well-” his voice comes through suddenly smaller than usual “-it’s not forever, I know that, but it is frustrating. I just want to be out there again. Still feels like I lost something. You two are keeping me sane.”

The admission punches somewhere low, and for a moment, Eddie’s lungs feel empty. It’s more or less what Maddie implied last week, but it seems backwards, impossible, really when- “Actually I think it’s you keeping us sane,” he says, looking back through the window. Christopher’s mouth is moving as he talks, but he’s still scribbling with the blue crayon.

Buck laughs again, a watery sound this time that cracks Eddie’s chest.

“Well it works out,” he says. “But anyway, if you don’t want Chris to wait then I was thinking maybe I could ask Maddie to sit with him for, like, an hour…but I mean if you want Carla to take him instead...”

Eddie shakes his head, setting his mind back on the reason Buck called. “Oh, no. He spent the last two days with Carla and they get along great but I know he’d rather see you. He’s used to hospitals; the kid’s more of a vet than either of us. I’ll just pack him some legos and - it’s Cedars, right? Just ask for Claire on the triage desk to keep an eye on him, but he’ll be fine.”

There’s a deep rooted reluctance in the silence that follows. Eddie bumps the back of his head once on the wall, flexing his jaw as he remembers again, belatedly, that Buck’s still dealing with his own kind of trauma and it’s not just the apparent insomnia. Buck still hasn’t voluntarily taken Christopher outside on his own further than walking to the corner store or the park at the end of his street, barring the one day he drove him home and back. Of course he’s not going to want to leave his side in a hospital for an hour even if Eddie knows Claire.

“But,” he adds on quickly, “if you want to ask Maddie to sit with him then he’d love to see her again.”

Buck sounds relieved in the breath that follows. “Yeah, she said she’d love to but I didn’t want to just…” _ Leave your kid with someone else when you’re still somehow trusting me with him. _ He doesn’t say it, but Eddie hears it.

“I still meant it, you know,” Eddie says lightly, another repetition between them. “He knows Maddie anyway but, Buck, I trust you with him.”

He has to swallow hard as he falls silent, realising he’d come close to calling him Evan, and promptly trying not to think about it. There’s something different in the name when it’s in stark daylight. He just isn’t sure if the difference is more or less.

Behind the glass of the window, the doctor stands up. Chris is still drawing, but now he’s holding a red crayon. Eddie wants to believe that means something.

“I think they’re done,” he says. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, go,” Buck says. “I hope it’s all good.”

Eddie snorts. “I’ll give you the update- Actually...what are you doing for lunch?”

“Nothing planned, why?”

“Chris and I will pick you up,” Eddie decides, not leaving room for much of a no. Buck doesn’t offer one. “Hang tight.”

He hangs up and pushes off the wall as the doctor stops in front of him, gently shutting the door to the consult room.

“So?” Eddie asks.

“All in all,” the doctor says, “I wouldn’t be overly concerned, Mr. Diaz. He’s young - it’s an impressionable age, yes, but kids are very resilient. He’s been through a lot in a short space of time - I understand his mother was in and out of the picture in recent months before her passing? But he seems to be adjusting well without her again.”

“Adjusting well?”

“He is old enough to understand what happened, and his comprehension of it is sound, too. He doesn’t expect her to come back but he is very secure in his life without that. He has a stable home environment, a good balance between friends and family, in and out of school, and it sounds like he also has a good support system going.”

“But the nightmares?” Eddie frowns. “He seems to get a lot of different ones, and some nights are worse than others.”

“Yes,” the doctor says, sympathy pulling at his expression. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Undoubtedly stressful for you both, but not unusual. They will run their course as his subconscious tries to sort through the things he saw and endured. It’s not abnormal for nightmares, and indeed, waking fears, to manifest differently over time. It’s all part of his brain processing everything.”

Eddie nods, tries to file that away as something even a little positive.

“It may well feel like you’re going backwards some nights,” the doctor says gently. “But Christopher said you’re always there for him and that he didn’t like you being worried, but he knows he’s safe at home and that he can come to you. I hear you’ve set up routines to help him cope and rehabilitate - including a bathroom?”

“Yeah, he- it was a struggle, before,” Eddie admits.

“Another of his coping mechanisms seems to be phone calls?” The doctor raises an eyebrow. “To someone called...Buck?”

Eddie nods slowly, eyes narrowing a little. He’s gotten enough of this with the 118, who just know that Buck watches Christopher during the day; he doesn’t need any judgement from a doctor who doesn’t know them over phonecalls that are helping. “Yeah. Buck is...he’s my coworker. A close friend. He was with Chris when it- when it happened.”

The doctor’s expression clears, morphing into something apologetic. “Ah. My apologies, Mr. Diaz,” he says. “Often we see children who create people or animals - figments of imagination - in the wake of trauma, to be a safe space. While it offers some comfort, it can be hard for them to break away from it in the long run. I take it, then that these phone calls to Buck are real?”

“They’re real,” Eddie says.

(He can hear Buck’s voice in his ear, the coaxing way he pulls Christopher away from his panic, and thinks there might have been a time, when it started, that hearing the dial tone connect to his best friend in the middle of the night was the most real thing in the world).

(If maybe it still is).

“Then my only concern would be his reliance on them if they’re not a coping method that can be...depended on.”

“What does that mean?”

The doctor looks mildly uncomfortable, but if he’s implying what Eddie thinks he is, he wants him to say it properly.

“Just that…” the doctor shifts his weight and his fingers clench and unclench visibly inside his coat pockets. “Coworkers don’t always stay the same. You don’t always know them the way you think, and friends fall out. Just ...be aware that if Chris depends on Buck to help him with some of this and Buck were to…”

“Leave?” Eddie finally says sharply. Turns out he doesn’t want him to say it properly.

The doctor winces, but doesn’t deny it. “You could find it sets Christopher back as well.”

“He won’t leave,” Eddie says simply, and he doesn’t have to think for a second over his conviction in that. “Buck is...he’s dealing with it all, too, and getting separated from Chris when the wave hit is still a big part of that for him. They’re helping each other in a way I just...I can’t. Trust me - Buck’s not going anywhere.”

The doctor gives him a look that’s somehow weighted, newly warm in a way it wasn’t moments before. “Your coworker loves your kid a lot,” he says, and it sounds like he’s implying something, but it’s also the truth so Eddie isn’t sure how to respond to it. “Well, I think you’re all very lucky, then.”

What about the aquaphobia, though?” Eddie says. “And how he keeps remembering his chest hurt? And he’s always panicking about his blankets.”

“Unfortunately, we humans often find the bad memories are the ones that stay the longest. They embed deeper,” The doctor says, soft but also clinical. “The aquaphobia....I’d like to say it should settle, given time, but it’s hard to be sure. Sometimes it’s harder to leave behind. You’re doing what you can, adjusting for it and he knows you’re not treating lightly something that, for him, is a very real fear.

“Likewise, his nightmares and the way they morph over time; some things he experienced were more traumatic than others and sometimes the mind buries those deeper.”

“It was more than a week after that he first screamed about Buck,” Eddie remembers.

The doctor nods, shoulders hunched in his coat. “Most likely his fear of being separated from Buck was stronger than his fear of being alone or with strangers so it took a little longer to manifest. Unfortunately, dreams are a complex area, and largely pseudoscience. The most we can do is speculate. His blankets, too, are a psychological thing so the best I can guess is that they remind him somehow of being underwater; perhaps the inhibition of his movement, or the pressure.

“In regards to his chest,” The doctor moves on, “I suspect that is where the most physical toll was taken - the strain on him from swimming and all the salt water. I understand he was thoroughly checked out the same day he was found?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Uh, Chim - my other coworker is a licenced EMT. He checked Chris on the spot and we took him to the hospital afterwards, too.”

The doctor nods along. “There was no physical injury to him at all, looking at his records. No scratches, concussion, sprains. So any chest pain we can almost certainly rule as exertion. Again, nightmares probably bring that up because it stood out. Pain is a strong memory for most people.”

“So…” Eddie exhales, casting about his mind as his lungs empty, but he can’t think of anything he hasn’t asked. “What does all this mean? For him?”

The doctor heaves a breath, and smiles gently. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Eddie’s chest tightens. “That’s it?”

“It’s not nearly such a little thing as it seems.” The doctor nods towards the window and Eddie’s gaze jumps across to Chris. “You’re there for him, you listen to him, and you’re finding ways to help him when you know you can’t - such as these phone calls with your Buck. I’ve met parents who are too prideful to see when they have limitations in helping their children and don’t want to hear it when you suggest anything otherwise. That is not your situation, Mr. Diaz.

“We can still sign him up to speak to a therapist if you would prefer, but...to give you a personal opinion?” The doctor pauses until Eddie nods. “He’s a very bright kid. You say he wakes up screaming about the pain in his chest and about Buck being gone, but speaking to him now, he’s very aware that the pain was because he - and I quote - “kept swimming like Dory.” - and he’s very clear on the fact that Buck saved him, which makes a lot more sense knowing he’s real and also a firefighter like yourself. That’s what he remembers when he’s awake. I don’t think he needs therapy; not at the moment. I think he needs time, and his family, and all the normalcy you can give him.

“Just know that you can come back with any concerns at all that you might have. The door is always open and you have my extension.”

It’s a relief to hear it, in such frank words. Eddie nods, feeling slightly light-headed, a huge weight shedding off his shoulders and he sinks against the wall again, all the air rushing out of his lungs.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Thank you. I- I need to-”

“Yes, of course,” The doctor smiles. “Take him home, or out for ice cream. And try to give yourself a break. You’re a good father, Mr Diaz.”

Buck is the only person Eddie wants to talk to as soon as the Doctor’s Office doors close behind them and they’re back on the street in the sunlight.

He helps Christopher into the car, strapping him in safely and then jumps in behind the wheel, turning over the engine.

“Hey, Chris? You want to go have lunch with Buck?”

Christopher beams, eyes squinting into the sky through the window.

“Yes, Buck and ice cream. Let’s go, Dad.”

.

The LAFD Headquarters building is a high-rise downtown that’s around a twenty minute journey away. Eddie swings into a handicapped parking slot outside, just across the street and turns the engine off to the sound of sirens.

There’s chaos at the front of the building; three ladder trucks and two Ambulances clustered around the sidewalk, taking up the street parking. Uncoiled, onboard hoselines trail from the trucks into the huge glass doors, which have been wedged open with fire extinguishers. A woman in a blouse and pencil skirt is checking things off a clipboard, her fine eyebrows arched as she surveys the activity inside the first Ambulance.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Christopher asks as Eddie lifts him down and locks up the car.

The clipboard tips him off - Buck’s mentioned working on inspections before, not that they discuss his light duties or even the 118’s calls very much. Buck doesn’t like talking about being restricted and Eddie doesn’t want to hurt him with what he’s missing. He knew that drills were a thing, though.

“Fire drill,” he says, checking the road before starting to lead Chris across. “They’re testing the team’s responses. Be careful, okay?”

They pick their way down the sidewalk to the main doors and duck inside, keeping to the edges and avoiding the fake injuries being back-boarded about or put in slings.

Buck is standing in the open lobby with a firehouse team that appear to be just finishing up. It’s even worse this side of the doors. The firehose has leaked water on the floor from the onboard tank and it snakes across the full length of the entrance hall, deflated and pitiful. Tangled up with it are several repelling cables and pulleys that zig-zag around abandoned stretchers and fire extinguishers.

Eddie’s going to take a wild guess and say this didn’t go all that well.

Heads look up all around as Eddie walks in. He’s the only person around not in uniform or office clothing, and Christopher clatters along ahead of him as fast as he can go on his crutches.

“Buck!” Chris calls.

Buck’s head snaps up, his face lighting up even before his eyes pick Christopher out of the milling people and Eddie feels unexpectedly like he needs to sit down.

Christopher carries onwards.

Buck tosses the clipboard down on a stretcher as it’s wheeled past. One of the firefighters gathered around him leans in to say something, gloved hand clapping on his arm, and Buck flushes under the bright lights, faltering in the step he takes away.

Eddie feels suddenly less like he wants to sit down. There’s a knot in the base of his spine and a crackling sort of annoyance flares in his nerve endings. He kind of wants to slap the guy’s hand off along with the grin on his face. He’s wearing a full body harness and it’s done up wrong.

Eddie hopes Buck failed him on it.

Buck veers around the team, though, without another glance, shaking off the touch like an afterthought. He jogs over to Chris, meeting him halfway there and extending his arms out in offering. Christopher likes his independence but there’s still a hint of relief in Buck’s face when Chris beams and hugs him, allowing himself to be lifted up, clear of all the trip hazards.

“Hey, Buddy!” Buck says, hoisting him up safely onto his hip, crutches swinging free. “How’d it go?”

“It was fine,” Christopher says as Eddie stops in front of them. A little way back, the firehouse team captain rounds up the crew and they start busying themselves with the mess. “I played with a firetruck and drew. Dad said we were getting you for lunch, are you coming with us?”

“He did, did he?” Buck shoots his glowing smile over Christopher’s head at Eddie, who firmly tries to tell himself that his heart is fine and he didn’t nearly swallow his tongue. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Christopher says, like this is a stupid question to be asking. His gaze drifts with interest around the lobby.

“Well, you want to come with me while I clock out?” Buck asks.

Chris picks at the collar of his shirt and says hopefully, “Can I stamp it?”

Buck squeezes him, sunlight in his smile. “I think we can arrange that.”

He shoots a quick look of question Eddie’s way, and Eddie waves them on, shoving his hands in his pockets as Buck moves off. He takes careful, easy steps over the spiderweb of hosepipe, cables and spilled water until he’s beyond the chaos zone, and then sets Christopher back down, carefully making sure he’s balanced. The two of them disappear off around the corner.

“Didn’t know about that,” says a voice behind Eddie.

He starts, twisting to look over his shoulder at where one of the firefighters has stepped up beside him. It’s the guy with the wonky harness. It’s a better (safer) way to think of him given the alternatives.

The guy smiles, though, nodding off in the direction Buck and Christopher went. “Nice family, dude.”

Eddie blinks.

There’s a tightness in his throat that feels like a correction that’s also a lie. It’s an illusion; the compliment handed over for something that doesn’t quite exist, not the way it’s intended, and yet it’s still real, still true. This isn’t someone he’s going to bother explaining the nuance to, and besides - he remembers that hand on Buck’s arm more vividly than he’d like and he’s happier with the implication of the comment than he’ll admit. He knows what he’s doing when he swallows back the denial.

“Thanks,” he says instead, and follows the boys.

.

“Looked chaotic,” Eddie comments when they’re all back in the car and pulling out of the space in front of the building.

At least outside everything looks a little more organised. One of the ambulances is gone and only one firetruck is left. In the distance, there’s the sound of new sirens as the next group hone in on the building.

“A mess,” Buck groans, head thumping back on the rest. “City mandated every three years - you’d think they’d be better prepared. You know the one eighteen’s is coming up soon, right?”

“Aren’t you...not meant to tell us?” Edde darts him a look and then switches right back to the road. “It’s a no-notice drill.”

“Tell you what?” Buck says innocently.

Christopher giggles in the back and Buck looks around at him, finger to his lips as he throws an exaggerated “shhhhh” his way.

Eddie flicks his gaze up to the rear view, watching Chris try to fall silent, laughs muffled between his pressed lips. Eddie can barely breathe.

He’s gotten used to hearing Buck and Christopher talk, used to the way that listening to each other calms them, distances the nightmares, if just for a little while. He’s used to knowing that they’re good for each other when they’re scared and hurting. This is newer, though, still enough tug at his heart, trip his pulse and reverberate through his bloodstream.

This is what Bobby was talking about.

Eddie doesn’t get enough of seeing them together in the good moments.

It’s the way that Buck gets Christopher to laugh in broad daylight, to face some of his fears and, for a moment, forget others; helping him find a confidence that he lost in the water. It’s watching Buck’s face light up when he hears Christopher’s voice, watching him piece himself together each time Chris places trust back into his hands like there’s no reason he shouldn’t.

Maybe it’s not a family in a way others might judge, but to say they aren’t would still be a lie. For now, that’s enough.

“Well, how about you tell us how that team did on their drill?” Eddie prompts, because he needs a moment to breathe away from that thought. He signals left and joins the freeway. “That’s not against any rules, is it?”

“None at all,” Buck smirks. Then he rolls his eyes, expression twisting as he remembers the situation they’ve just driven away from. “They weren’t great. Not enough communication, too much equipment all at once, not a big enough team to manage it all - watch out for that, if, you know, hypothetically, you might also have to do one.” A beat and then, “On Thursday.”

Eddie dumps the clutch and the car leaps, gears grinding.

“Dad!” Christopher laughs gleefully in the back seat and Buck sniggers, tongue curling behind his teeth as he tries to force it back.

Eddie shoots Buck a look, not sure if he wants to laugh himself or swear at him. His chest is too tight.

Buck shrugs, a wicked tint in his eyes. He continues, “Anyway, I think they passed, but only just.”

“Are you adding up the scores, too?” Eddie mutters, distracting himself with changing lanes.

Buck gives him a wildly insulted look that sends Christopher into a renewed stream of giggles.

“No faith,” Buck mutters. He rolls his eyes at Chris but then he gives a half shrug and says, “Yeah, to be fair, that might be why they passed. Their point guy didn’t even have his harness on right.”

Eddie is still trying to tell himself when they pull into the diner lot that wanting to kiss Buck for that is a completely normal reaction. It’s a saying. Never mind that for a moment there he really considered doing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something was missing from this chapter....
> 
> But I'll save all my 'behind the scenes' notes for the end :)
> 
> Some 118 cameos, though!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missing day's update. Halloween took priority :/ But here we go with the next bit!
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone reading and commenting, I really appreciate it and your feedback is amazing. Onward ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

For three nights, Christopher doesn’t even wake up, let alone scream.

He goes right through until the alarms go off in the morning, and Eddie only blinks awake the first night, falling right back down when the silence registers. The Diaz house relearns sleep.

Buck leaves texts. Eddie finds them in the morning and tries not to worry over the timestamps.

The first is a message, sent the first night.

Buck 2:37am   
Hope he’s sleeping and you’re both okay.

The second, sent the third night, is just two emojis.

Buck 4:03am   
🤞😴

Christopher is livelier during the day. It’s not a big change, but a subtle one, mostly in the way his smiles come easier and last longer. His coordination will never be great, but he moves with less weariness, like he feels lighter when he isn’t carrying around sleepless nights in his bones and screams in his lungs. The rest is doing him good.

Eddie finally contacts the school.

He’s been putting it off, but he calls the office and speaks to the principal after the third night and explains everything. They leave it up to him, whether Christopher should go back on the first day of the new semester, or if he needs more time.

Chris wants to go back, and Eddie’s worried about it as well as glad.

“I don’t want him to get singled out by the other kids for not being there at the start of the year,” Eddie says into the headset as the firetruck and the 118 fly down the freeway, sirens blaring, to answer a call to a gas leak. “I don’t want him to miss stuff, or fall behind, and it might be good for him to be back with more kids his age.”

“But you worry,” Hen says. He watches her mouth move and hears her voice relay through his earpieces. “You think he’s ready?”

Eddie shrugs, shaking his head blankly. “Maybe? I hope so? But I can’t help thinking about what might happen.”

“Got to let him fly the nest some time,” Chimney says whimsically.

Hen frowns at him. “You learn that from your non-existent kid?”

Chimney gives her a helpless look. “What? It’s sound advice.” He glances at Lena for back up, but her eyebrows are near her hairline and she holds up her hands, shoulder against the far window.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t do kids.”

“It’s advice out of a Hallmark card,” Hen scoffs. She turns back to Eddie, leaning across the centre console to pat his knee. He can barely feel it through the heavy fire-resistant turnout kit but he smiles anyway. “Being back at school will give him something else to focus on.”

Eddie nods. That’s true enough.

He thinks he knows better than to be hopeful, but he hopes all the same.

On the fourth night, Eddie blinks awake in the ringing silence of the house. The glowing numbers on the clock say it’s 3:29 and he finds himself stretching across the bed to pick up his phone, just in case.

There’s no message waiting.

The screen is painfully bright, and Eddie rubs his eyes, swiping half blind to drop the light levels before he thumbs into his texts.

3:30am   
4 in a row

He sends it to Buck, his eyes sliding closed, sleep tugging at him, and it’s just a minute later that he feels the phone buzz against his chest. Eddie blinks, lifts it back up.

Buck 3:32am   
Good. Hope tomorrow its 5

Eddie hovers over the keyboard, wanting to ask if he’s okay, but it feels oddly ineffective. There’s a distance in the texts that’s so tangible at night when they still work fine during the day. He can’t hear the quietness in Buck’s voice, can’t tell if he’s deflecting with the way his breath catches.

He still can’t quite bring himself to call.

It feels like something else, to press the dial button under the velvet shroud of night-time when it’s just him.

It’s a something else that he doesn’t hate, that is almost terrifying for how simple it seems, how in reach. He prefers not to be awake at night when Christopher isn’t - not because he’s losing sleep, but because this kind of wild, wishful thinking invades so much easier in the shadows.

He texts back anyway.

3:35am   
What’s your count?

Buck 3:38am   
I’m sleeping enough

3:39am   
You’re talking to me right now

Buck 3:39am   
I sleep enough just

Buck 3:40am   
Not always at once, or at night

Eddie hovers again, feeling his eyes start to slip and seeing the text bubbles melt into the corners of the screen, letters dripping loose. He barely remembers hitting send.

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s to a new unread message. His last one sits there, rife with sleepy typos:

3:42am   
You need somethng good to ho,ld onto that helps w ith it

And under it:

Buck 3:47am   
I’m working on it

.

They only make it to four nights.

Christopher wakes up crying on the fifth one and comes stumbling into Eddie’s room, swiping angrily at his own tears and hiccuping as he crawls into the bed. Eddie wakes up when he hears the footsteps, and he’s already there, leaning across the mattress and folding his son into his chest when Christopher reaches him.

“Hey, Buddy,” Eddie murmurs, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He rubs Christopher’s back, smoothing at the slight shiver between his shoulder blades. “You woke up again? That’s okay. It’s okay. We can just lay here for a bit. You want to talk about it?”

It’s a futile hope at this point, but Eddie asks anyway.

Christopher surprises him when he nods.

Eddie has to try very hard not to tense, lurch upright or start turning on the lights. He holds himself still, forces his shoulders to relax against the pillows. If Christopher is ready to say anything, he’s going to make as little deal out of it as he can.

“You just talk when you want then, okay?” he says, breathing into his hair. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

And Christopher talks.

He starts quietly with how the sea went away, and how Buck snatched him up; the way he was jostled as Buck ran with him. He remembers with acute detail the way the street stand shattered over him when the water hit. He remembers his hands being sore from holding a telephone post, salt burning in his throat. He talks about seeing Buck surface and be snatched past him in the current.

He talks about the game of I Spy on the firetruck, about the dripping under the metal plates, the hollow, tinny sound of it, loud as war drums. He talks about how his chest lurched every time the water made their unstable life raft shudder against the dam of felled trees, determined to work loose and wash out. He remembers the people Buck helped pull from the current; describing the swim he made across the street with the hose to catch as many survivors as possible.

Eddie forces himself not to cry, knowing it won’t help.

Chris has remembered so much more than he thought possible; small things as well as the insurmountable. It makes sense. Eddie has always known that Christopher has a far sharper, brighter mind than anyone ever expects. They look at him and see the CP, not the way a brain with it adapts to see the world. Eddie hoped he wouldn’t recall it quite like this; hoped that the way his nightmares centre on fewer things meant his memory had, too, but he can’t be surprised it isn’t the case. It just hurts.

Christopher talks about falling. He remembers the truck slipping, and hitting the water backwards before he could hold his breath.

All of it is bits and pieces that Eddie kind of knew - just through the perspective of Buck’s terror. But the rest is unknown; an account of what happened to him in the hours between the firetruck and when a latina stranger laid him back into Eddie’s arms.

He talks about grabbing hold of a car, of paddling between buildings, of trying to heave breaths where he could, clinging to floating flotsam when a piece passed close enough. He keeps repeating how he swam like Dory until he reaches a break, voice warbling and exhausted where he says, barely a whisper, “I was Nemo’s dad, too. I wanted to find Buck.”

He got stranded on a roof and was finally pulled from the sea by three boys. They helped him down, gave him a surf board to hold onto and tugged him to solid, waterlogged land in the midst of another surge returning to the ocean. By the time he reaches the part of his tale where he’s led to a bigger group of survivors, there are only two boys pulling his surf board. Eddie doesn’t ask Christopher to clarify how many there were. The guess is good enough.

“I kept swimming, like Bucky told me,” Christopher says, a weary mumble into Eddie’s chest. “I- I want -....can I talk to him, too?”

Eddie isn’t sure Chris will stay awake long enough to do much more talking, but refusing isn’t even a consideration. He’s more glad for the excuse than he realised.

He also doesn’t think Buck knows half of this yet. He’s still haunted by the not knowing; by the huge missing hours of time Christopher hasn’t talked about, and Eddie knows he’ll want to hear it. Whether he’s asleep or not, and regardless of the time, if Chris is ready to tell him, he’ll be on the phone in a heartbeat.

“Yeah we can call him,” Eddie says.

He leans out, extracting himself and leaving Chris curled in the pillows, and picks up his phone.

It rings.

And it rings again. And again.

It rings for a fourth time - longer than it has in weeks, in months - and Eddie feels suddenly sick with guilt, nausea spinning in the pit of his stomach.

Is Buck finally, finally asleep in the middle of the night? He shouldn’t be calling - shouldn’t, mustn’t wake him up-

He’s just tearing the phone down, fumbling to hang up, already ready to explain to Christopher when suddenly, the line connects with a crunch of static and ragged breaths.

“Ed? Chris? God- What- Is he okay?” Buck can barely say the words, his voice raw and cracked around trembling inhales. He’s frantic, blindly panicked, tears audibly choking him.

Eddie sits up and shifts to the edge of the bed, fingers holding the phone so hard his joints ache.

“Hey, hey, we’re fine. We’re okay. Evan, breathe. I’m so sorry. He’s okay. Come on, breathe. Just listen to me. Christopher is fine. _Estoy aquí, solo respira por mí. _We’re fine. You’re okay-”

The words spill out on autopilot, easy like muscle memory.

Eddie can’t even remember right now if his phone volume is up or down, and he doesn’t need Chris to hear and start panicking about Buck, but a glance back at the bed shows him Christopher seems unaware, his eyes drooping quietly under his tousled mop of hair.

Buck starts to pull in breaths, and Eddie slows down to match him before falling quiet.

The blind panic has gone, and Eddie just listens as he stifles sobs, air rattling through his mouth and shuddering in his lungs. He’s not been there before, not right when Buck’s been thrown out of a nightmare, so this is just guesswork, but he thinks, if it were him, he’d want some quiet to piece himself back together. So that’s what he gives.

Eddie tips the phone away from his mouth so he can still keep an ear on Buck and gently nudges Christopher.

“Hey, kid, I’m just going to go talk to Buck for a minute, okay? I’ll come right back. You need anything?”

Christopher shakes his head, sitting up.

“I want my bed,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “Can I go?”

Eddie blinks, oddly tempted to laugh. Maybe he’s finally hysterical. “Of course you can, Buddy. Are you sure? You don’t need anything?”

“No, I just want my own pillow.” Christopher crawls to the far side of the mattress and gets down, shuffling to the door and then pausing there with his fingers around the handle. “Is Bucky okay?”

Eddie hears Buck snatch his breath and hold it, like he, too, doesn’t want Chris to hear him. Eddie’s heart twists, pulled in two directions even though more and more it’s feeling like the same one.

He’s reminded abruptly of the way Buck had collapsed gasping in Hen’s arms at the pier that day; dehydrated, injured and exhausted, losing blood too quickly and only conscious at all out of sheer willpower.

Eddie suddenly wants to throw the phone; wants to fall through it, to be there in case Buck actually needs someone to hold him upright right now-

“He’ll be fine,” Eddie says, willing Chris to believe it and hoping Buck’s listening to him, too. “I’ll come get you in a minute, alright?”

Christopher nods and slips through the door.

“Buck?” Eddie asks, the instant it clicks shut again behind him. He spares a thought for the fact Christopher might linger the other side to listen, but he’s attuned to the nighttime sounds of the house and his son now, and he’s sure he hears him padding unevenly back down the hall. He can’t - won’t - leave Buck right now to check.

“Fuck,” Buck mutters, the curse punching out of him like he held it until he knew Chris wasn’t there for the fallout. “I’m so sorry. Jesus. I’m so sorry. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Eddie says, waving at the door even though Buck can’t see him. “Stop apologising. This isn’t your fault, Evan. He’s fine. I’m worried about you. Are you with me now?”

“Yeah,” Buck says slowly. Eddie knows he’s not okay because he doesn’t immediately protest the idea of being someone to worry about. “I’m here, I just-”

“Was actually sleeping,” Eddie guesses, trying to keep his voice light but unable to stop himself wincing. “ _ Dios _ , I’m sorry.”

“Not the good kind. If screaming yourself hoarse in a nightmare you need someone to literally call you to wake up from counts as sleep then I’m glad I haven’t been getting it at night,” Buck says blackly. “Thanks for waking me up.”

“Christ, Buck,” Eddie mutters. He shoves down the sudden impulse to grab Christopher and jump in the car, trying to ignore the math already speeding at the back of his head of how many minutes it would take him to be at Buck’s door. “How often are you still getting these?”

“This is the first in over a week. Closer to two.” He still sounds like he’s breathing through his teeth, voice tight. “Right after the wave they were a couple of times a night. I started setting alarms to wake myself up because my mind couldn’t get out. I was drowning every night. Over and over.”

Eddie feels water splash onto his own wrist and flinches. It takes him too long to realise it was from him, and that he’s crying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Buck says, like he knows. “I haven’t had one for a while. It’s getting better.”

“Is it getting better because you’re getting better, or because you’re not sleeping?” Eddie asks flatly.

Buck lets out a drawn sigh and says reluctantly, “I’m not always sure. I worry when I try to sleep, but it  _ is _ better. I- the team; hanging out with them...but mostly the phonecalls - you and Christopher - knowing he’s okay. It helps, Ed. That helps.”

“I’m not going to stop them,” Eddie says, throat tight and his heart dropping a beat at the name. “Stop worrying that I’ll shut you out.” He bites his tongue, suddenly struggling with the flash of annoyance that sears through his nerves, leaving him feeling burned through. His tears have dried, tight on his face. “I’m mad at myself because I didn’t think, and I haven’t been there for you and I should have - especially the past few nights.”

Buck makes a choked sound. “You have been. You texted me, remember?”

“Last night. For five minutes.”

“So you didn’t call,” Buck says sharply. “So what? Chris needs to sleep, and you do, too. You keep getting up to take care of him-”

“And the past few nights you’ve just been awake,” Eddie cuts him off.

“Awake at odd hours, yeah,” Buck says. “But not screaming or trapped in my own head.”

“I should have called,” Eddie says.

“No, you should have done what you did, which was get some sleep when you knew your kid was okay.”

“While you deal with whatever on your own?” Eddie throws back. “No.” Buck doesn’t reply, and Eddie deflates, all the air rushing out of his chest. He tries again, softer, “I just want to know how to help you, too.”

Buck laughs weakly. “You’re already doing it. You guys...gave me some kind of purpose again. I feel like I lost that when I lost my job; that it took some huge part of me and I still don’t really know who I am without it, but that doesn’t feel like such a huge thing when I talk to you two. Ed, you help more than you know.”

The words are already too much to process; spinning through his bloodstream and etching into his bones. Eddie’s pulse skitters and races away from him at the nickname too, and it’s only the third time but he wonders if it’s possible to get addicted to the way someone says your name in the dark.

“Light duties isn’t losing your job,” he says because he doesn’t even know how to start with the rest of it right now.

Buck snorts. “Yeah, but I quit first.”

He sounds amused, but distinctly more tired now than strung out, and Eddie prays that’s a good thing, even as the thought of him going back to sleep alone in his apartment makes him anxious. There’s more Buck isn’t saying, but it’s late and he’s calmer so Eddie allows him to shift the tone.

“You’ll be back,” he says. “As soon as you’re cleared. In the meantime, you and Chris are helping each other, I get free childcare and inside information on fire drills.”

Buck laughs. Eddie can hear the way it tugs at his throat after the screams, but the fact he’s relaxed enough to laugh at all is reassuring.

“You know, I could feel like I was being used in this scenario,” Buck points out lightly.

Eddie holds his breath, feels like someone’s lit a line of gunpowder up his spine. “There’s worse ways to be used,” he says, and tells himself if he’s thinking of chores at the firehouse while he says it, then it’s not crossing a line.

Buck doesn’t appear to get the same memo.

“There’s better ways, too,” he says, and without leaving room for a reply continues, “You called for Chris, though, right? Didn’t make it five nights?”

Eddie isn’t sure if he’s disappointed, like he’s been robbed of something or if he feels like he’s dodged a bullet even though he wasn’t the one moving out of the way. His heart beats a staccato rhythm under his ribs, so hard he feels a little light-headed. He takes the out he’s been offered.

Buck might sound calmer, but he’s likely still disoriented from the nightmare and this isn’t a path Eddie wants to start down with that shadow hanging over it.

“Yeah, he- actually, he talked to me tonight,” Eddie suddenly remembers.

“He talked?” Buck repeats, astonished and suddenly more awake. “About…?”

“Most of it, I think. Stuff I don’t think he’s said before; things that happened after you were split up.”

“Thank god,” Buck murmurs reverently. “That is good, right? That’s what the doctor said - just give him time to open up about it? This is a step forwards?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Eddie nods. He glances at the clock, has no concept of how long it’s been. “He was really calm when he asked to call you. I think he wants to tell you, too - maybe he thinks it’ll help if you know.”

Buck blows out a breath. “I still panic that I’ve lost him sometimes, even when I’m awake - even when we haven’t left the apartment or times I know he’s home with your or Carla,” he confesses. “Not knowing what happened to him-that’s...Yeah. I want to hear it, if he’ll tell me.”

Eddie nods, already rolling himself up. “I think he will. I’ll go get him.”

He heads down the hall, phone cradled to his ear and then softly pushes Christopher’s bedroom door inward.

He’s not sitting up in the bed waiting, or curled in a ball with his eyes open in the dark. He’s sprawled flat across the mattress, blankets over his legs and the corner held tight in his hand. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie slides against the door frame, fingers rubbing absently at his chest where his heart is twisting yet again. He kind of wonders what Chimney might say if he asked him for a check over. It can’t be good for such an important organ to be throwing itself about between fear and affection like this all the time.

Not to mention the knotting up shit it pulls when he sees Buck smile at Christopher.

“Hey, Buck,” he says softly, “Looks like he fell asleep.”

Buck exhales. “Good. That’s...that’s good.”

Eddie doesn’t even stop to think about what he says next. “Get up early. Come over for breakfast and I’ll see if Carla can stop by an hour or so later than usual. You two can have the morning together.”

“I-uh, yeah. Sure - of course. I’ll be there,” Buck stutters.

“See you in a few hours then,” Eddie says. He closes Christopher’s door again. “And, hey, Evan - He wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. Home at all, or even in a place where he’s ready to talk about any of it. So thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” Buck says, his voice thick. “I wish we hadn’t been at that pier, but for the rest of it - I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”

Eddie knew he wouldn’t truly accept it.

“Go get some sleep. You’re making the pancakes.”

Buck laughs. “See? I knew I was being used.”

.

The doorbell rings just ten minutes after Eddie wakes up, only a few hours after he hung up on Buck when it was still dark. He slips through the hazy, early morning light of the house to open the front door.

Buck stands on the open porch in jeans and a henley, the sleeves pushed up his forearms far enough that Eddie can see the thin rings of his bracelet tattoo and the looping calligraphy on his other arm. He raises an impish eyebrow, challenge in the curl of his smirk as he lifts the bag of food he brought. Eddie steps aside to let him in and Buck heads straight for the kitchen asking over his shoulder about waffle irons.

Eddie pushes the door closed and follows him, not sure if the house just got brighter or if he’s coming down with something.

Buck’s there when Christopher wakes up.

He exits his room, rubbing his eyes and pulling his glasses over his head, still in sleep-ruffled pyjamas, and falters in the kitchen doorway when he sees Buck.

Eddie doesn’t even have the heart to send him off to get dressed first. Buck’s already ruffling Chris’ hair and carefully handing him a plate, pointing him towards a lidded cup of juice on the kitchen table.

They eat together, then Eddie does the washing up so that Buck doesn’t have to worry about it, because he’d never leave it for Carla to do. Christopher pulls Buck away to his room, and he goes, with a single look over his shoulder before Eddie waves him off.

The two of them are tucked away, the quiet hum of voices drifting through the half open door, while Eddie dives through a shower. He pulls on his LAFD kit, grabs his keys, phone and wallet then makes sure there’s some cash in the kitchen drawer if Carla needs it. He stops at Chris’ room to say goodbye to the two of them before he’s late.

He had wondered if Christopher might not be ready to retell the story now, in the light of day and having slept on it and woken up in bright spirits to find Buck there. Yet, as he ducks his head in, he recognises the part where three boys helped Chris onto a surfboard.

Christopher doesn’t seem to notice he’s there, curled up tucked under Buck’s arm and playing with his toy firetruck.

Buck looks up. He looks a bit like he’s been shattered apart and the fragments glued back together in a way that’s still fragile, with spaces between the cracks. There’s tears in his eyes that he seems to be holding back just out of sheer will.

Eddie wonders what good rules and lines are if they mean that he can’t cut cross the room to hold the shards of his best friend together.

But Christopher sets down the truck and folds around Buck’s side instead, hugging tightly, glasses pushing up off his nose. Buck nods at Eddie, tilting his head towards the clock glowing over by the bedside.

_ We’re okay _ , he mouths.  _ I’ve got him _ .

Eddie runs his eyes over them one last time; these two boys who are both his in all the ways that count and nods softly, slowly retreating.

It feels like something has changed though; a subtle shift that’s perhaps more important because nothing actually seems to be different. Still, it’s there. Eddie arrives at the firehouse feeling like he left half of himself behind, in that doorway.

.

It’s a good thing he’s not late for work.

The morning is packed full of inventory checks and fitness reviews and then, just before they break for lunch, they get the call.

It’s not an alarm; it’s the phone on the back wall. Bobby crosses to it while Chimney freezes, half a sugared doughnut in his mouth despite the lasagne that’s waiting in the fridge. Bobby’s eyebrows rise higher by increments as he listens and then he finally clears his throat and hangs up with a “Yes, Sir.”

“Cap?” Hen asks.

“There’s a high-rise downtown on fire with multiple injured and a sticky elevator and a lot of people carrying clipboards.”

Oh.

What with the weekend and Chris sleeping and then the morning, it had completely slipped Eddie’s mind what day it was.

Thursday.

Bobby starts manually ringing the huge brass bell that’s bolted high right next to the phone. “This is our LAFD drill, people. Let’s get moving; load up. Bosko, Diaz - Ladder truck. Wilson, Han - fire up the bus. The rest of you clear out of that gym. LETS GO.”

They’re roaring down the strip towards the fake fire within five minutes, and Eddie’s trying to remember what else Buck told him about the team at the end of last week. It’s kind of a blur now, after everything else. The only solid memory of it he has is a harness not buckled up right for repelling. He lets his head thump back against the seat, his hard hat biting into the nape of his neck.

“Eddie? You okay?” Chimney asks.

He nods. “Yeah just- We’re meant to be caught off guard by them but just kicking myself that I forgot. Could have warned you.”

Chimney’s eyes go round and Hen’s jaw drops.

“You  _ knew _ ?” she says, voice cracking.

“I mean…Not exactly?” Eddie winces. “I wasn’t meant to.”

“Goddamnit, Buckaroo,” Chimney mutters. He pulls out his phone and starts rapidly texting.

“No communing with the enemy,” Bobby says loftily from the front.

“No good anyway,” Chimney says. Eddie can see grey text bubbles but can’t read them across the cab. “He’s enjoying this too much. Just says ‘hurry up’ and sent me an hourglass emoji. Can he be one of the ‘numerous injuries’?”

Bobby snorts and doesn’t reply.

Buck’s tapping his pen on his clipboard, eyes on his watch when they all pile into the familiar lobby. Another team are just finishing up, having clearly been pulled on the morning slot. There’s no leaky hose this time, and all the cables at least seem to run in organised lines but Eddie doesn’t know if they had a good or a bad run.

Then there’s Buck. He has a marshal's badge secured through his belt loop and he’s back in his light duties uniform; pressed slacks and a collared shirt. Eddie’s a little glad he’s seen it before. He looks good in it, but Eddie hates it the same way he knows Buck does; knowing it all fits wrong and missing the turnout fatigues and navy t-shirt like missing a limb. It’s still strange; not having him on their side.

“How are we doing?” Chimney asks, on the way past him with the hoseline coiled over his shoulder.

Buck spins in the doorway, wincing. “You don’t wanna know.”

.

Carla has a cup of tea waiting for him when Eddie gets home.

He sighs gratefully, inhaling the steam as Christopher comes through from the living room to greet him.

“You have a good day, Kid?” he asks, feeling bone weary.

“Yeah, it was good,” Chris says happily. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me, too, Buddy,” Eddie says, heartfelt.

Carla smiles, still sipping at her own mug of tea. “He’s been an angel, as always,” she says. “Chris, you wanna get the drawings you did?”

He nods, releasing Eddie’s waist from his hug and ambling off to the living room.

“So,” Carla says, with a pause that’s a bit too gleeful. “How was the drill?”

Eddie gapes at her. “He told you?”

Carla’s smile spreads and she looks infinitely pleased with herself. “Oh, that boy tells me a lot,” she says. “He stayed as long as he could. Took off out of here just in time to make it for your call. He hates the light duties - he’s so glad they’re almost over - and anything about them that can make him look forward to showing up is okay in my book.”

Eddie feels himself deflate, letting go even of his faked incredulity because he actually agrees.

“Yeah. Chim thought he was having too much fun. It was good to see, though.”

“I bet,” Carla coughs into her mug. Eddie shoots her a narrow look. She softens, lowering the cup as she tells him, “He’s one of the good ones.”

“I know that,” Eddie sighs.

“But he’s wasted in that building,” She continues. “He’s good at what he does. He has the biggest heart but it’s out in that noisy fire engine with all of you, and I’ll just be happy when he’s out there again, too.”

“Me, too,” Eddie says.

He takes a gulp of the tea and it feels like it forgoes his stomach, seeping straight into his bones.

“Herbal,” Carla says.

Christopher returns, holding up sheaves of craft paper, and Eddie sets down the mug to take them from him.

He’s gotten so used to expecting to see water, or the blue pens, that it takes him a second to realise Christopher has drawn dry land. Specifically, he’s drawn a tall (slightly lopsided) building with a firetruck sat outside it. There’s a line up of figures in black firefighter turnout kit and one more, crammed into the doorway of the building, identifiable by the orange box he’s carrying and the smudge of pink pen above his left eye.

He drew Buck’s  _ birthmark _ .

Somehow that sucks all the air out of the room before Eddie can even process the rest of the image. Carla looks pointedly back into her mug, eyebrows as high as they’ll reach.

Then he catches up. Not an orange box, but a clipboard.

“Wait- Did he tell you he was testing us today, too?”

Christopher laughs, head shaking enough to jostle his glasses. “Daaaaaad. He told you, too. It’s Thursday.”

Carla snorts and pours herself more tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real notes here. Just a bit more from the 118, and also Carla. I love Carla.
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another missing day there. There was a bit of a late addition during the proof reading.
> 
> And I also accidentally sketched one of the scenes, so I kind of held off until I could finish that and put it in ¬¬ (It's shoddy with a bunch of errors that will bother me tomorrow but for now. I'm glad to call it done). I was all set to embed it in the text but decided I'd rather you guys imagine the scenes how you want. Its an optional extra if you want to see it. Link at the end :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the next bit ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

The weekend hits.

It’s not a standard weekend; it starts when the 118’s shift finishes on Wednesday evening and they don’t pick up again until Saturday morning.

Bobby waves them all off, propping open the locker room doorway to make sure they all clear out. The 139 have already showed up and assembled in the loft to take over, clattering about and hazing each other and probably moving all Bobby’s condiments around. They spent the last four hours trying to tackle a cliffside rescue and Eddie’s ready for the break.

“There’s a bottle of wine out there with my name on it,” Hen hollers, striding off down the main floor between the trucks. She’s making a beeline for the doors, bag flung over her shoulder and waving above her head without looking back. “Then all I want is to see my wife and make sure she doesn’t obsess over another IVF article for the next two days.”

“Have a drink for me!” Bobby calls.

“I’m already drinking for Karen,” Hen laughs. “Better luck next time, Cap!”

Bobby smiles broadly and salutes her retreat.

“And I….” Chimney checks his phone yet again, something he’s been doing half the day, and his face finally lights up. “I am on for a romantic weekend getaway. Josh loves us and Maddie just got cover.” He slams his locker shut and grabs his bag. “I’m out, I’m gone, have a good weekend, behave yourselves. Don’t do anything stupid without me.”

Bobby holds up his hands as Chimney squeezes past him.

“Nothing stupid planned,” he says. “Athena’s working tomorrow but we’re taking advantage of Friday when the kids start school again. Same goes for you, Chim - you’re not staying in a log cabin for this getaway, are you?”

Chimney wheels around to shoot him a filthy look. “We are both capable adults and nothing is going to go wrong.”

Eddie smirks. “But you have cell service, right? Just in case?”

Chimney tips his head back and sniffs, now walking backwards as he makes his exit. “Actually no. It’s going to be two perfect days with no interference from any of you idiots. Goodbye.”

He spins on his heel and dashes off out the front into the evening sun.

Bobby whistles lowly and shakes his head. “Well, I hope for his sake that goes well. What about you, Eddie? Plans?”

Eddie finishes up with his locker and shuts it. It’s just the two of them left; the rest cleared out a while ago, as soon as the bell rang for shift change.

“A few,” he says, turning to Bobby. “Spend the day with Christopher because he’s back to school on Friday.”

Bobby nods without judgement. “Decided to start with the semester?”

Eddie rubs the back of his neck and nods back. “Yeah. I think I’m more concerned than he is, honestly. But all his teachers know what the summer has been like so I think I just...need to let him do it.”

“And you’ll deal with it a day at a time like you have up to now,” Bobby says gently. “Try not to spend the day worrying too much, yeah?”

Eddie blows out a breath and nods, shouldering his bag. “Yeah. I’m going to try. Thanks, Bobby. Tell Athena I said Hi. See you Saturday.”

“Take care of yourself,” Bobby replies.

It looks for a moment like he wants to say something else and then reconsiders it. He taps the side of his fist twice against the glass door and then moves off of it, retreating towards the stairs to pass on any handover memos. Eddie catches the door as it swings, ducks through it, and heads for the exit.

He can’t quite let go of the team’s goodbyes as he drives back home, though. As soon as he’s seen off Carla for the evening, he turns to Christopher in the kitchen. The whole room smells pleasantly of warm cookies from the batch still cooling by the oven and it reminds him of the gifted food regularly on one of the tables at the firehouse.

“Hey, Chris, how do you feel about Buck joining us for dinner?”

Eddie hadn’t exactly planned on saying it, but as soon as he does, it occurs to him there was no other way the evening was going to go. It’s the thing that’s been tugging at the back of his mind; Hen going home to Karen, Bobby and Athena having plans, even Chimney and Maddie are away. They don’t even have cell phone service until they’re back. Maddie said Buck wasn’t contacting her much at night any more, but Eddie’s suddenly acutely aware that he won’t be able to now.

That’s not really the reason, though. It’s just somehow knowing that the rest of the 118 are going home to their families, but Buck lives alone and Eddie feels like a piece of his was missing from the moment he dropped his bag in the doorway.

Christopher looks up from his unidentifiable lego construction, a wide smile breaking across his face. “Yeah, I want to see him.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, and it’s barely six but he pulls out his phone. Then Christopher speaks again, eyes on what he’s building, and Eddie freezes.

“Can Buck sleep over, too?”

He’s not sure where to start with that, and Christopher carries on with the tiny blocks in his hands, head tilted whimsically to the side as he pieces them together, like he hasn’t just asked something that’s left an ache in Eddie’s ribcage. It feels like there isn’t enough air in his lungs, like they won’t inflate.

Slowly, he sinks down into a chair opposite Christopher, letting his phone slide onto the table.

“Hey, Chris? Think we can have a grown up talk for a minute, Buddy?”

“Sure, Dad.” Christopher blinks and sets down the pieces he’s holding, pushing the wonky creation backwards with an adorable air that seems to say he knows this won’t be a few seconds.

Eddie can’t help smiling.

“I want to talk to you about Buck. Is it...it’s okay that you spend so much time with him, isn’t it?”

Christopher looks confused, and Eddie kind of gets it. Maybe it was a stupid question to start with. “I like hanging out with Buck,” he says. “He’s my friend.”

Eddie’s still trying to make his chest work properly. “Yeah...he is. But...sometimes we don’t like to be with our friends all the time. And that’s okay, too.”

Christopher frowns. “I like it when Buck’s around,” he says. “We have fun and...and it’s not as scary.”

Eddie’s pulse drops. “What isn’t?”

Christopher shoots a shifty look across the kitchen to the sink and shrugs. “Washing my hands. The shower. Drinks.”

He says it softly, scooting across the words like he doesn’t want to put much weight to them, and Eddie doesn’t press. It’s enough to really recognise that something about Buck being the one to do those things with him, when Christopher knows Buck has the same fears he does, is somehow helping to lessen them. Or at least - it’s showing him he’s brave enough to face them.

“That’s good, Kid. I’m glad he helps, and that you have fun.” Eddie swallows and picks up the purpose of the conversation again. “So- Buck staying over...can you tell me why you asked that?”

Christopher’s eyebrows pull down and his eyes drop to the table, fingers picking at the edge. He shrugs. “No reason.”

Eddie reaches across for him, folding Chris’ hands into both of his own. “Hey, _ mjio _. It’s okay. I’m not upset, I promise. I’m just wondering why. Are you worried about anything? Is it because it’s less scary?”

Because that’s his best guess; that Christopher still worries about the nightmares, even though they’re spacing further apart, and that he’s learned to associate Buck with something safe and reassuring in the middle of it all. Eddie thought, months ago, that letting those phonecalls start would set them on a path it might be hard to break away from. He wonders what it says about him or Christopher that he can’t make himself regret it.

Christopher shakes his head though, and looks up at Eddie. His eyes are round and soulful behind his glasses and he heaves a breath that lifts his small chest.

“It’s not as scary when you’re here, too,” he says plainly. Then, “I’m not worried about me,” like it should have been obvious. “When I wake up I have you, but Buck doesn’t. I thought if he woke up then maybe he could have us.”

Eddie has to take almost a full minute to check his heart is still beating around the tight, knotted feeling of it, and find a way to make his throat work again. There’s a pressure like a fire hydrant at the back of his eyes and he doesn’t want to cry but the gentle, guileless words hit like a sucker punch.

“So…” He starts, swallowing hard when his voice comes out strangled. “You want Buck to stay in case he has a nightmare?”

Chris rolls his head and then pulls his hands away to start lining up his lego bricks in front of him, arranging them by colour. “Yeah,” he says, sounding tentative. “But also because he’s fun and I want to play video games with him and tell him about the cookies we made and what Abuela said on the phone.”

Eddie’s brain stalls and veers off course with that new information. “Abuela called?”

Christopher nods and his little hands curl around the two bricks he’s holding. “Yes,” he says, voice even more careful. “She said she missed me and she’s going to talk to you soon about me staying with her again.”

“You love staying with Abuela,” Eddie says slowly, feeling his eyes narrow as he surveys his son.

“Yeah, I miss her,” he agrees. “But…” He trails off, biting at his lip as he prods lego across the table.

“It’s okay. We’re honest with each other, right? Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Christopher scrunches up his nose and bites at his lip again before sighing. “I want to see Abuela again but I don’t want it to be like it was before. I like Carla, and Buck. I don’t want them to go away.”

“Oh, Kid,” Eddie exhales, drawing his hands back so he can cut around the table to hug him around the shoulders, leaning awkwardly over the chair. “They’re not going to go away. You can see Abuela again, maybe a couple of times a week - I’ll talk to her, see what she’s up for, yeah? But you can still spend days with Carla and Buck. At least until Buck’s back at work; then he won’t have as much time but I promise you, he won’t go away.”

He knows he’s not wrong about that. The weight in his chest eases as Christopher looks hopefully up at him, eyes starry and wide.

“Abuela said that your mom and dad wanted us to go back,” he says then, and immediately Eddie’s heart seizes back up. Christopher fidgets under his arm, his face pulled into a troubled expression. “We’re not leaving, are we? I don’t want to go.”

Eddie tries hard to bite back the automatic snap of annoyance up his spine. Abuela shouldn’t have brought this up to him, but he knows that in all likelihood it was just a slip up. He squeezes Chris tight. “No. Hey, no. We’re not going anywhere. If you don’t want to go then we don’t go.”

Christopher quiets and loosens, nodding to himself. Eddie lets him go to sit back at the table, just sliding into the nearest chair.

“I’ll talk to Abuela so you can see her again, yeah? Maybe at the weekend, after your first day back at school?” Chris nods. His features have eased and, as Eddie reaches to tousle his hair, he smiles again. “And for now…” He remembers with a jump in his pulse what got them onto the topic. “You think Buck should stay with us?”

He’s not sure about it exactly because he’s so sure about it.

It’s not like it changes anything; it’s not like trying to reintroduce Shannon to a life and a son she left behind after they’d both already moved on and learned to live without her. It’s also not like Eddie really has a whole lot of his own shit to work through while protecting Chris from it. Buck’s always been his best friend, and that exists independent of the adoration Buck and Christopher have for each other.

It’s not like this is really all that different from the night weeks ago when Buck shrugged and said they could crash at his place. Well. If he ignores the fact that this won’t be a spur of the moment offer.

Christopher nods though. “Can he?”

Eddie isn’t really sure they’ve had the conversation he thought they should have, but he also can’t pinpoint what that might have been. He just nods, feeling strangely airless.

“I’ll ask.”

“Hey, Dad?” Christopher asks, as Eddie picks up his phone again and heads for the doorway. Eddie looks back. “You want to stay here, too, right?”

Eddie exhales. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to stay. Go on back to your building, Buddy. I’ll call Buck.”

Christopher pulls the project towards him again, nodding happily to himself and Eddie ducks into the hallway.

The phone rings twice before it connects, only it’s not Buck who answers.

“Boy, it didn’t even take you one hour.”

Eddie blinks and takes the phone away from his ear just to check he did call the right number even though he’s never managed to get speed dial wrong. It definitely says Buck’s name. He lifts the phone again.

“Hen? Wh-” And then a bolt of horror lances down his spine like a javelin. “Buck, is he-?”

“Your boy’s fine,” Hen says, and Eddie’s never heard such an audible eye-roll in his life. “You think I’d have just waited for you to call if something was up? Nah, he just ran off to grab something and told me to answer the phone.”

“I didn’t know you were with him,” Eddie says, at a loss for anything else.

It’s then that he realises he’s stood still in the hall without the light on, just staring at the wall, so he goes to grab his bag from near the door.

“‘Cause I didn’t tell you,” Hen says, somewhere between a scoff and something almost smug. “Wanted to see how long it’d take you to call if you thought he was on his own. Chim thought you’d last two hours, for the record.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time, tracking through to his bedroom and dropping the bag on the bed. “Thanks. But if you’re...then I’ll just-”

“Oh, nuh-uh. I’m only here for a few more minutes so whatever this phonecall was for, you ain’t interrupting. I’ll pass you to him now.”

“Uh,” Eddie finds himself stuttering. “Sure, thanks - have a good night, Hen.”

“Mmhm,” she hums. “You, too.”

Eddie gets the impression she was going to add something to that and decided not to, but he has no way to prove it or find out because then Buck’s voice is back in his ear.

“Eddie - what’s up?”

He shakes himself out of it.

“You got any plans tonight?”

“Uh, no?”

Eddie smirks. “Are you asking me?”

“No. no.” Buck laughs; a small, airless sound. “No, I don’t. Why?”

“Want to come and join us for dinner?”

“I-” There’s a stalled moment of silence on the phone, and Eddie waits, biting his tongue between his molars. “Yeah,” Buck finally says, barely an exhale. “Yeah that...that’d be great. When should I…?”

“Whenever,” Eddie shrugs. “As soon as you want. And, uh. This is up to you but...pack a bag?”

“A-” Buck’s voice fails with a crack over a sound of confused surprise. “A bag?”

Eddie suddenly feels twitchy in his own skin. His nerves are snapping, tiny shocks of energy like pinpricks and the space between his shoulder blades feels tight, drawn like a bowstring. He hadn’t really fully anticipated this being a difficult thing to ask or offer.

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to shake the feeling, but all it does is stir it up more; like stroking a dog backwards and lifting all the hair the wrong way.

“Well, we figured it would be late and you might not want to drive so…”

“So…” Buck hesitates, wonder spilling through his voice, and Eddie gets the distinct impression he doesn’t want to say it because he can’t quite believe it.

“So you can stay here,” Eddie fills in for him. “If you want.”

Buck sounds pained when he answers. “Uh- I...Jesus. I just don’t know if- because Chris is sleeping better now and-”

“It was his idea,” Eddie interjects gently. “You don’t have to stay. You can still come for dinner and go again if you want. But we wouldn’t have asked if we weren’t sure and...Buck, maybe you’ll sleep better too.”

He’s actually hoping for it.

He listens to Buck breathe for a moment; whispering draws between his teeth, and can practically hear the crunch of gears in his brain as he thinks. Then there’s a sigh.

“Okay. Yeah. Uh. I’ll just...see you in a bit. If you’re sure.”

Eddie scoffs down the phone purposefully. “Get over here before Christopher eats all these cookies for dinner.”

.

Eddie wakes up to the smell of waffles and sighs into his pillows before pushing himself up, out of bed and heading for the kitchen.

Christopher is still asleep, or at least - his room is quiet and there’s no sign of him in the rest of the house. It’s light out, but the clock ticking away on the wall tells him it’s barely after seven.

“Did you sleep at all?”

Buck startles, almost slamming the waffle iron shut on his hand and he wheels around with a mildly contrite look. He looks soft at the edges, a looseness in the span of his shoulders that seems to speak of sleep, and yet his eyes are alert. There's something entirely too compelling about Buck being here like this; the easy way he navigates the cupboards wearing sleep clothes in that strange, hazy and washed out time of the morning that often feels like it barely exists. Eddie sets the thought aside, because he's more worried that Buck's sleep is something that barely exists.

“I slept,” he says, turning back to rescue the waffle. He tosses it onto a plate where three already wait and starts pouring more mix into the mould.

Eddie shoots a sideways glance through the archway to the living room. At least the couch is still made up with pillows and blankets and they’re skewed enough that Eddie can buy Buck at least laid down in them for a bit. Either that he’s just good at convincing people he has.

Eddie lets it go, starts making coffee and then pours a smoothie into a cup for Christopher and clips on the lid. He starts to hear the shuffling, tell-tale sounds of Christopher in his room as Buck sets down a mountain of waffles in the middle of the table and then scratches idly at his jaw.

“Hey, I should probably- head off, right? Last day before school, figure you want to-”

Eddie guesses it makes sense, in usual Buck fashion. The three of them have spent the day together before, but those days always started with going to pick up Buck from his place, or the other way around. There’s something that’s just a little different about the day starting under the same roof. Still, Eddie tells himself it’s Buck-logic and rolls his eyes. He sets down the coffee pot and circles the counter, placing his hands on Buck’s shoulders to firmly steer him to the table.

“Sit, eat, and if you don’t have anything urgent to get back to, I thought you could hang out with us.”

Buck blinks, startled, and Eddie figures that’s mostly the reason he’s able to manhandle him to a chair.

“Are you sure?”

He is, actually, and maybe that should be more life-altering than it is. He wonders obliquely if he’s meant to be possessive of his son’s time, meant to hoard it away for himself. He can’t quite summon the feeling, though. Instead, foregone conclusion grafts to his bones like fibreglass. It makes sense, it just fits, that Buck’s there, and it doesn’t feel like he’s losing out on anything with Christopher in the process.

Eddie swallows the thought down and nudges Buck’s shoulder as he lets go then heads back to pick up the coffee. He gestures over his shoulder, “How about you ask Chris?”

The chair legs squeak as Buck twists to the doorway.

Christopher staggers through it right on cue, holding his glasses half on his head as he rubs at his eyes, his pyjamas drooping from his shoulders and wearing the rubber-grip socks Carla got him back when everything began.

Something about Buck seems to melt and he breaks into a smile brighter than the pale morning sun draped across the kitchen counters. Christopher takes a detour around the corner of the table to hug him; Buck curls an arm around his back, gentle like he’s made of spun glass. Eddie tries not to spill the mugs.

“Ask what?” Christopher mumbles as he pulls himself onto a chair a moment later. He fixes his glasses on straight, blinks, and then beams at Buck before reaching for the plate of waffles.

“Uh-” It’s a bit entertaining, really, watching Buck try to remember how words work. “Ask if it’s okay that I crash your last day with your dad?”

Christopher pauses, waffle halfway to his mouth. “You’re gonna stay with us?”

“If...that’s okay?”

Christopher nods, smiling with his entire chest, and takes a large bite, chews thoughtfully for a moment and then says. “Can we go out and do something?”

Eddie sets down a cup of coffee in front of Buck and then slides into a free chair. “Like what?”

Christopher shrugs. Eddie plucks a waffle off of the pile and Buck bites his lip, hands closing around his mug. Eddie’s phone buzzes in the pocket of his sweatpants.

Frowning, he pulls it out and thumbs into his messages.

Abuela 7:13am  
I miss my Grandson and I will not put my thumbs through all this texting. You give me a call. Love you _ nieto _

Eddie smiles and rolls his eyes, dropping his phone onto the table. He should probably get used to not doing that soon so Christopher doesn’t pick up bad habits but it’s something he can tackle another day. He eats his waffle in the peaceful quiet as Buck drinks his coffee and Christopher finishes his share and then sips half the smoothie from his cup.

Buck looks up finally, just as Chris starts to get restless, darting a glance from him and back to Eddie. “So...Bobby was telling me there’s this carnival type thing going on the first week schools all kick off. He and Michael were taking the kids today. Maybe that…”

“Can we?” Chistopher asks, jumping on it. 

Buck winces apologetically. “It’s fairground rides, maybe some animals, some games. Nothing too crazy.”

Eddie picks up his phone again. He stands up, tousling Chris’ hair and feeling like he’s stopped himself doing something else as he passes Buck’s chair to the sink. The aborted impulse that never existed drips through his veins like molasses as he rinses out the cup. He clears his throat but the residual feeling doesn’t quite shake. “I’ll text Bobby, see if it’s okay to meet them there. Christopher, go get dressed. Buck, eat something. And if there’s any of those spinning rides, you’re taking him on them.”

So they meet up with Bobby at the entrance as he and Michael corral their kids, and the seven of them all crowd a tiny pop up ticket booth to get their little paper bracelets.

“There’s not enough kids to share out for a parent-child pass,” Michael mutters side-long to Eddie as he weaves between May and Harry to get to the window first. “Just go with it.”

Which is how the entire group ends up wearing red ‘Family Pass’ bracelets for the day.

There’s a bonfire to finish the night off, along with too many marshmallows, which is also how Buck ends up back at Eddie’s a whole twenty four hours after he first arrived, this time diving through the shower. Even Christopher manages a short one without a lot of coaxing.

He’s bundled up on the couch, a towel around his neck to catch drips from his hair even as Buck attacks him with a blowdryer. Eddie watches them from the kitchen, not so concerned with his own damp hair as he sets on a laundry load for all the smoky clothes. It aches in a way that he doesn’t want to let go off, even though it hurts, too. He hates that a disaster like the Tsunami did so much to them, and that the ripples of it are still there, fanning out over the months. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone, would want them to be far from it if they could all go back.

It brought them here, though. Buck and Christopher’s laughs almost drowned out by the whir of the hairdryer as they cluster on his couch, backlit by blazing ribbons of pink and gold light as the sun falls through the slats of the blinds.

Eddie joins them, and the evening melts away. They play Mario Cart on the old Xbox, make up a light dinner and rescue the laundry. The hands on the clock in the corner droop sleepily and haul themselves back up to the twelve. Christopher is half asleep, slumped into Buck’s shoulder when he yawns finally. Just his head is poking out from a roll of blankets and he looks like an oversized croissant in glasses.

“Okay, bedtime, Kid,” Eddie says, rocking out a kink in his shoulders and pulling himself up from the floor.

“‘Kay,” Christopher murmurs sleepily. “Dad, will Buck come with us to drop me at school?”

Buck freezes in the middle of gently shifting him around so Eddie can lift him. “Uh-”

“If he wants,” Eddie says, scooping him up and catching Buck’s eyes - the way they’re startled and shattered with hope, fever-bright in the dark that’s fallen across the room. “You can ask in the morning, okay? Time to sleep.”

He tries not to feel like he’s escaping something as he sets Christopher into bed, helps him remove his glasses and then checks the blankets are loose and the tv remove in reach. Chris is already asleep, though, and eventually there’s nothing more he can do so he leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

He finds Buck leant forward on the couch where they left him; forearms braced across his legs and looking distantly at the window onto the front yard. Through it, at the end of the path, beyond the low fence, is Buck’s car. Eddie’s heart twists, his pulse scattering like it’s trying to abandon him and he folds his arms tightly over his chest, pressure to an open wound.

“You okay?”

Buck looks up slowly, eyes focusing on him. He looks tired, actually worn and weary in a way that pulls at his frame. His neck is loose and there’s a malleable shift in the muscle across his shoulder blades as he stretches, shirt pulled taut.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just...I don’t know what’s too much, you know? I don’t...want to be somewhere you don’t want me to be. Like today or school tomorrow. So I guess I’m just...lost.”

Eddie twists and drops against the doorway until the frame of it digs a line down his spine, grounds him against the hazy, cloaked feel that’s suffusing the room like a gas leak. “All I want is my kid to be happy. And for you to be okay. Those things, they’re what I’m working for right now.” Eddie looks at him firmly. “Buck. You have never been any part of Christopher’s life - or mine - that I didn’t want, or ask you to be there for. He tells me when it’s enough; when he wants to do something alone, and he’d tell you too. If I wasn’t okay, I’d damn well tell you,” he tacks on with a snort, and Buck cracks into a fragile smile.

That very first shift they shared well over a year ago sits in a shared memory that doesn’t need words to make Eddie smile. He remembers picking the fight, putting himself in front of Buck and asking what his problem was. He also remembers none of those problems outlived the grenade they took out of a man’s leg. An ambulance blew up, and so did their rivalry. Eddie never looked back.

“Do you want to stay?” He asks. “Couch is still there, so’s your stuff.”

Buck looks back at the window and moonlight cuts across the angle of his throat as he swallows. He looks preoccupied; worried, even, and Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the thought of leaving or staying that’s scraping away at him.

“I didn’t ask if you think you should,” he says, when Buck still seems to be digging for the answer and Eddie’s sure he can read the _ I shouldn’t _ in his face. “I get if you want your bed back again. But do you _ want _ to go?”

The cords of his neck are tight as he sighs, drops his head from the window and turns to look at Eddie. His voice catches over two letters, “No.”

.

It’s still dark when Eddie finds himself awake.

For a moment, he can’t work out why when everything seems normal, but then his senses slowly start to slide back into place in his head and with them comes the familiar sound of uneven padding down the hall, finally ending the other side of the door.

Eddie presses his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pulling himself up. The glowing digital numbers on the clock say it’s 4:36am.

“Christopher?” he asks in a hushed whisper through the wood.

The door barely makes a sound as it pushes in, and Christopher pokes his head inside. He’s wearing his glasses, which is odd enough, and seems to be trailing his blanket like a cape, clutching it around his shoulders in a fist. Eddie guesses that he didn’t wake up and panic about his bedsheets, in that case.

“It’s Buck,” Christopher says.

Eddie’s moving before he can say anything else.

The living room is dark, the only light long, slanted silver beams from the window, but they’re bleak, not enough to force back the inky shadows that stretch from the corners like spiderwebs and spill like tar around the furniture.

Buck is actually asleep, but seeing it makes Eddie’s heart wrench like someone has tried to twist his aorta with a spanner. It’s painful, and he’s left with a frantic pulse that doesn’t seem to be doing any good at sending blood to his brain. Buck is a rigid line of tension from the cords in his neck to where his legs are twisted in the borrowed bedding, muscle knotted up and shaking with the strain of it but unable to let go. His brows are pulled low and furrowed, creasing through his birthmark, and his eyes move rapidly behind the lids. His mouth moves, might be forming words or even screams that can’t break the barrier to the waking world.

“Is he okay?” Christopher asks quietly from the doorway.

Eddie finds himself having to call on his crisis training to be able to turn from Buck and seek out Chris’ dark silhouette.

“He’s going to be fine, Kid. I need you to go to your room, okay? Can you do that? He’s going to be fine.”

Thankfully, Christopher doesn’t argue. He nods and retreats, shuffling off down the hall and Eddie blinks back relieved tears. Then he turns to Buck, stepping alongside the couch to reach him.

He’s not really sure what’ll happen. He knows Buck said he can’t always wake himself up when he gets stuck in his head, and it seems like that translates to him not being a feather-light sleeper. No one has been there with him at night though - something Eddie suddenly does want to cry about because if this is what it’s been for him, how have they let him be alone-

The point is. He has no way of knowing how Buck will react when someone tries to wake him up in person. So he steels himself and reaches out.

The sinew in his shoulder flinches when Eddie closes his hand over it, but it isn’t until he applies pressure - just a little - that Buck wakes up. It’s like someone stuck him with a cattle prod.

He gasps, thrown out of the nightmare violently and bolts upright, clawing in breath like he hasn’t breathed in minutes - like he thought he was drowning. He lashes out at the same moment, his hand clamping around Eddie’s arm, fingers biting in with blind panic, like he’s trying to anchor himself against a tide, against the strength of an ocean.

Eddie barely even registers it, twisting and sinking into the edge of the couch cushion. He brings up his arm between them and closes his hand on the back of Buck’s neck, squeezing a little, applying downward pressure, the same grounding feeling he’s offered to other would-be drowning victims.

It’s then that he realises he’s talking, a probably incomprehensible mix of Spanish and English, sentences blending together. He tries to stop, but without them, he can just hear the way each frantic inhale rattles air around Buck’s lungs.

So he keeps going. “Just breathe, come on, breathe. You’re okay, Christopher is fine. Listen to me, just listen to me. _ Regresa a mí, _ Evan. I got you. _ Lo sobreviviste. _You’re strong enough to survive this, too-”

Buck looks pale in the gloom, his heartbeat screaming it’s pulse in the hollow of his throat like it knows it’s filling in for his voice. His whole body shakes; Eddie can feel the tremble under his palms - one on Buck’s neck and the other his shoulder, and in the constricted muscle of his bicep under Bucks fingers. Even his legs tremor, the shocks of it echoing deep into the bone of Eddie’s hip where he’s sunk down beside Buck’s knees.

He fixes his hand firmer to the back of Buck’s skull, breathes as steadily as he can, forcing aside the sympathy shocks firing off in his nerves that make him want to break apart at the seams. He just breathes and holds fast, lets the words taper away with Buck’s ragged inhales, and he waits for the world to stop.

Predictably, the first thing Buck says is a cracked and raw, “I’m sorry.”

Eddie almost sobs in relief he’s talking and coherent. “Don’t be. This is not your fault.”

“But- Chris- Is he-”

“He’s okay. He’s in his room. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Buck jerks his head, like the words don’t make sense and Eddie notes almost absently that the edge of his thumb is catching on fresh stubble scattered across Buck’s jaw. Something about it feels significant, but he’s too wired to focus his brain on what that is.

“I’m-”

“If you say ‘fine’, God help me, Buck-”

The laugh he makes is a shattered thing, like shards of glass coated in black comedy.

“No,” he manages, coughing a moment later. “I’m just- sorry. I didn’t want to put you through this. I should have gone home-”

“No,” Eddie overrides him, trying not to snap too hard. “You wanted to stay, so you should have. I don’t _ care _ about this, okay. You think nightmares are new to me? This might be bad, maybe the worst, but Chris had them before the Tsunami for other stuff. Heck I had more than my fair share. I was an army medic and the crap I saw; what I had to deal with. I came back from that second tour hearing their screams in my head for months.”

Buck seems to have frozen solid, exhaling in a whisper and staring at him in the darkness. The pale aquamarine blue of his eyes are the brightest thing in the predawn moonlight. Eddie gently squeezes the hand at the nape of his neck again, makes sure he’s listening.

“Reliving this doesn’t make you weak and you don’t have to hide it.”

All of the air seems to rush out of Buck and he crumples, shivering, his grip falling away from Eddie’s arm completely as he folds in on himself. Eddie surges into the empty space and hugs him.

It takes a moment, Buck quaking and distant, like he’s barely even there before Eddie feels him breathe, feels the flicker of his heartbeat, and then Buck hugs him back. He’s tentative at first, and then caves around a sob and holds on like Eddie’s holding him to the planet.

Eddie lets him, biting back tears out of sheer willpower so that they don’t soak into Buck’s t-shirt and make things worse. He remembers weeks ago, standing in Buck’s bathroom and his best friend hugging him with that steadfast promise -_ I got you _\- and how it had felt like the only thing keeping him together.

He hadn’t seen back then just how much Buck was falling apart. He’s done letting it happen.

Buck lets him go, pulls back, curled in on himself and rubbing at his head. Eddie’s half tempted to snatch his hands away, like he so often did for Christopher, but he stills himself. Buck isn’t actually crying; it looks more like an attempt to shake out the last cobwebs of the nightmare.

“Did you really sleep last night?” Eddie asks quietly.

Maybe it’s low to ask it right now, when Buck’s walls are lying in rubble, and everything is close under the surface, but he’s asking it anyway.

Buck tips his head back and swallows thickly. “I did. Just…maybe three hours. I-” he looks back at Eddie, hesitating, and Eddie just waits, hands between his knees. “You know about the alarms?”

Eddie nods. He remembers; the ones that Buck has set at intervals every night, to shake him awake, just in case, if he even falls asleep to start with.

“I didn’t want to wake up Christopher, or you. So I turned them off last night. And I thought it might just be okay if I didn’t sleep for one night. Figured I’d catch up when I got home while it was still light or something.”

And, of course, he’d never gone home. In spite of the missed sleep and worry of exposing it, he hadn’t wanted to. Eddie remembers looking at him from the doorway just hours earlier; the hazy outline of him on the sofa, the sleep setting into his bones despite his attempts to hold it back.

“You really fell asleep tonight,” Eddie guesses. “Deeper than you have for a while.”

“Since you last called in the middle of the night, yeah,” Buck says.

Eddie’s sure there’s something to be said for needing to actually sleep to work through the things haunting him, but he’s also sure Buck knows that himself. Either way, it’s not something to start on tonight.

“You’re an idiot,” he tells Buck fondly. “And okay, maybe you can’t live on our couch - try telling Chris that - but you are not going through any of this alone. I already wake up when I think the slightest thing is wrong. Christopher still wakes up at night even if he’s not screaming nearly so much. You need to sleep, but we’ll work on that. I just want you to call me, or text - anything, if you’re awake.”

“Bu- I-” Buck blinks at him, grasping for words.

Eddie stands slowly up, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder again. “We’ll work on that, too. I’m going to make up one of Carla’s herbal teas. Stay put.”

“Thanks, Ed,” Buck breathes, sinking back into the couch and exhaling like he’s leaving all his air behind. Eddie almost walks into the coffee table. He sets his sights on the black kitchen archway and considers for a fleeting moment, really getting his heart checked.

By the time the tea is steeped and the smell of Valerian root has washed across the blackened kitchen (“Good for sleep,” Carla had told him, waving the box Eddie’s face), Buck is asleep again, this time pliant and still in the nest of blankets.

He’s still asleep when Eddie wakes up first two hours later. He starts a pot of coffee, decides tactfully not to touch the waffle iron and then watches the morning sun start to splinter through the blinds and reach across the floor for the couch. Buck breathes quietly against the borrowed pillow, t-shirt twisted around his ribs and his chest rising and falling softly.

A warm weight settles deep in Eddie’s stomach, and a scattered tension that’s been waiting in his nerve endings flickers and dies, leaving room for him to breathe without feeling the itch of it.

He goes to wake Christopher before his alarm goes off. The noise doesn’t carry too well but just in case - Buck should sleep as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keep adding to all the 'behind the scenes' things I want to say when this is done, honestly. Nothing for now though :)
> 
> The art can be seen here, if anyone is interested: https://www.deviantart.com/tattered-dreams/art/The-Space-Between-Sleep-819122140  
It took approximately 6 hours with a digital airbrush. No references were used for anatomy, which is why there are definitely muscles in the wrong places ¬¬ but I did have a heap of photos of Oliver and Ryan in the hopes of not butchering them too badly. I expect that also failed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rushing to get this one posted in the last few seconds of my lunch break haha.
> 
> I'm so sorry it's been a few days. It's not what I'd hoped for but between going back to work after a week off, and a road trip to look at a horse, I just couldn't proof read this to a point I was happy. Anyway. We're there now.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and thanks for your patience and hanging in there :)
> 
> Also. this is not the end. Oops. there's probably going to be eight chapters.

It takes just three days of Christopher being back at school for Eddie to realise he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He had hobbies before - he knows he did - but the summer was so long and wrought and full of screams and the growing space between them that he can’t remember what they were, exactly. Each passing day after the Tsunami has been a roulette game of steps forward and steps back. Christopher keeps going to school, which is fine on the days Eddie is running around with the 118, but on the days he’s not...he hasn’t not had Chris around for such a long time and now there’s hours of those days when he’s the only person in the house.

He feels like he’s come unmoored and started drifting backwards downstream, swept in a current of memories that all look unfamiliar when he’s seeing them in reverse. Maybe he’s just moved too far away from the version of himself that they belonged to.

Which is possibly how he ends up at Athena’s place on a Wednesday morning over a week later, knocking on her door and realising he doesn’t even remember the drive from the school.

Athena pulls open the door and does a subtle rear back, eyes sharp as ever as she surveys him.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly. “Um. Bobby said to meet him here? Sorry I didn’t mean to just show up.”

Athena’s eyes roll and she ushers him in. “Bobby!” She calls through the house as they descend the set of stairs to the split level. “Should I leave the front door open for any more of your work kids, or is this all you invited?”

“No, this is it,” Bobby calls back.

They round the wall. Athena cuts to Bobby to give him a wry look and a kiss but Eddie diverts to the table where Buck and Chimney are looking up at him.

“Hey,” Eddie says, pulling out the chair beside Buck. “What’s going on?”

“No one said,” Chimney shrugs. “Cap texted and said breakfast is on him. Like I’m going to say no.”

“Yeah, well, make yourself useful,” Bobby says, appearing behind him with an enormous frying pan. “Grab this. Dish up. Toast anyone?”

“Where’s Hen?” Eddie asks, because her absence is a glaring error in the fabric of reality.

“Appointment with Karen,” Buck says, apparently accepting the handle of the pan on autopilot, because he’s not even looking at it.

“Take this, too,” Athena says, appearing suddenly with a plate of bacon. Eddie just reacts as it’s lowered into his hands.

Chimney whips a napkin out to the side - an entirely unnecessary dramatic flourish - and then lays it across his lap. No further explanation to the unannounced meal seems forthcoming, so Eddie shrugs and starts serving out bacon.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?” Bobby asks when the table has been cleared and Chimney is pulling on his jacket.

(He pulls the kind of face that says ‘oooh boss man wants a word, good luck’ without even having to open his mouth and then hastens his exit out the front door).

Eddie looks up at Bobby slowly, but his brain has stalled and nothing comes to mind over what this could be about. He nods and gets up, tucking the chair back in beside where Buck’s still sitting and follows Bobby through to the living space and then out of the glass doors into the back yard.

“What’s going on?”

Bobby deliberates, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans despite his relaxed stance. That’s still weird enough; while they’re all a family and all hang out away from the firehouse, something about seeing Bobby in a cotton sweater and jeans is still just a little odd and out of place in a way it never has been when it’s Buck.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing now that Christopher is back in school. Time to yourself; must be strange?”

Eddie exhales, feels his head drop to the side. “Yeah. A little,” he admits. “But I’m okay.”

Bobby doesn’t look convinced. “This isn’t a formal meeting, Eddie. I’m not asking as your captain; I’m asking as your friend.”

Eddie isn’t sure how to answer, though.

Sure, he feels a little lost as soon as Christopher has disappeared into the school building for the day, but that’s...normal, isn’t it? Besides, not being entirely sure about what to do with himself in those hours is hardly on par with the kind of struggle Christopher has been working with. And it doesn’t even hold a candle to his more recent realisation of how bad Buck’s insomnia is. He isn’t someone to be concerned about.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says finally, exhaling all the pressure in his chest. “I don’t- It’s just getting used to it; things changing, trying to be there for them. I only know what they’ve told me so sometimes I still have that thought - am I doing this right, you know?”

Bobby nods, understanding etched into the creases of his eyes, but there’s a sympathetic pull to his smile as well.

“I think you know you are,” he says. “But just because you didn’t go through what they did...it doesn’t mean that you have to be okay. Buck’s worried.”

He tacks it on at the end plainly, and Eddie’s head snaps up.

Buck’s worried? Why? And why does Bobby know that?

He turns to look over his shoulder, catches a glimpse of Buck talking to Athena at the kitchen table.

“He didn’t say anything to me,” Bobby says, snatching his attention back. “He won’t.”

He says it like he knows it’s true, not like he’s tried to ask. “Just like you’ve been careful not to talk about anything he’s going through since the beginning of summer - yeah, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie swallows, not sure if he’s meant to apologise for that, but knowing he won’t.

(That’s the moment it occurs to him, like lighting a match to spilled kerosene, that they’re both staunchly protecting scraps of insight into the other from the rest of the team, even though they both know all the others want is to help. It’s insight and information given up through cracks, though; in the vulnerable space after dusk and before nightfall, entrusted into the space of a phone connection only, or whispers across a shadowed couch. The things Buck has admitted to him - the trouble sleeping, the alarms staggered through the night, and more - they’re not his to give up to anyone else. Buck knows it works that way, too.

Clearly, so does Bobby).

Bobby shrugs it off. “That’s fine, but I know that kid, and I think I know you a bit, too. He’s worried about you, and I just want you to know that you don’t have to be okay, either.”

Eddie wonders vaguely if this is what a hairline fracture in the fabric of his mind feels like; like a rushing sensation, spiky and soothing at once, like a pulsing at the back of his skull and the sun between the trees burning bright enough to white-out the sky.

“You’re a damn good firefighter, Eddie,” Bobby says quietly. “And we’re keeping you with the one eighteen as long as we can manage it. You and Christopher are family, you know that, and I know that you still bring everything you have into the firehouse every day. But you’ve also been holding your son and Buck together for months. We- I’ve - tried to be there, and Buck lets me, to a point, but I think you’ve done more for him than we’ve been able to. You haven’t had a day off from that since the wave.”

Eddie can’t quite see the world anymore, outside of the spinning behind his eyes as the words rush through his brain, reverberating like they’re in another language. He’s piecing them together, one after the other.

“So, what...you think I need time off?”

He doesn’t  _ want _ a day off. Buck and Christopher don’t get one from the things still haunting them. Why should he?

Bobby shakes his head, and relief washes through Eddie’s bloodstream like a tidal wave.

“No. Actually I think that structure is probably good for you. I just...wanted you to know that I’m here. If you need anything.” He hesitates a moment again and then says, carefully, “Trauma doesn’t always come in the obvious shapes. Just...don’t overlook yourself while you’re carrying them through theirs. Let them help. Let us. You’re not on your own either.”

Eddie nods, without feeling like he’s the one in control of it. Bobby steps close to clap a hand on his shoulder; a firm, solid weight that squeezes and - in that moment - roots him more firmly to the earth than he’s been since Christopher’s second day at school; the first day he stood there alone and watched him walk away.

Bobby releases him.

“There’s some coffee inside, and I’m looking through some old firehouse incident reports, if you want to stay. Some of them are ridiculous if you could do with a laugh.”

Eddie feels the world reassemble, tree by tree, the sun dimming back to normal California levels of searing bright as he turns to watch Bobby slip back into the house. There’s a glare on the glass, a reflection of the yard, but the scene inside pulls at him. Bobby kisses Athena on the head and sits beside her then plucks a set of papers from Buck’s hands with an eyeroll. Buck’s shoulders slump in feigned exasperation, even though he’s smiling.

He doesn’t look so tired right now. He’s been the one to initiate texts more in the last week than the last three months combined, and Eddie calls him most evenings. Buck says he only has two alarms set on his phone now, and he’s slowly trying to do away with the one at two in the morning. Then there was the night that he and Christopher just let themselves into his place after a long shift, carrying pizza and said they were staying. The relief in Buck’s face that evening has seared itself into Eddie’s memory with heartbreaking clarity.

He looks less tired, and Eddie can only hope he’s helping.

Only now, he’s left standing in the sunny garden, inhaling the fragrant smell of Michael’s wildflowers, listening to the breeze catch between palm fronds, and he’s replaying Bobby’s words back on a loop in his brain.

Maybe he does need to consider that he has his own stuff to work through, but he’s not sure where that starts yet.

So he turns around, ducks back into the house and goes to join them at the table.

.

“You signed us up for what?”

Hen sounds incredulous, and Eddie’s pretty sure he must have misheard, too. Bobby looks unfazed, though, maybe just a little bit pleased with himself.

“It’s for charity.”

Chimney holds up his hands. “And I have absolutely nothing against charity, but it’s the what that concerns me.”

Hen darts him a sideways look and her brows pull down. “You saying we can’t do it?”

Chimney’s hands fall open at her in exasperation and he stares at her across the table. His expression quite plainly says ‘who’s side are you on here?’

Eddie rubs his jaw so he doesn’t laugh.

Bobby surveys the table, hands on his hips as he stands in front of them. He looks disappointed as well as amused in the way that only a father can look when told by his kids that he’s no longer cool.

“It’s just dodgeball,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

“Firehouses competing?” Eddie asks, wincing.

Hen hisses between her teeth. “It’ll be a bloodbath, Cap.”

Bobby smiles brightly. “We’re all first responders. What could go wrong?”

Chimney blows a long breath out through his mouth and shakes his head with faked disappointment. “I never expected it to be sabotaged like this.”

“I never expected it to be Bobby,” Hen adds.

“Look on the bright side,” Bobby says, ignoring them soundly and clapping his hands together. “We might lose our first match and not have to play any more.”

Hen’s eyebrows nearly rise off of her head.

“Oh, now that’s just insulting,” Eddie puts in. “What, you think we can’t win one game?”

Chimney pounds the table once and then holds up his hand, palm out. Eddie high fives him in solidarity.

“Oh if we’re doing this then we’re in it to win,” Hen says. “Besides - Buck’s competitive as shit at this stuff. We at least have a fighting chance.”

That’s a very good point. Eddie tips his head to her and Hen’s smile looks just a little feral; as though she’s already imagining pummelling some hapless paramedic in the gut - right before her head snaps around to Bobby, eyes suddenly narrow.

“Buck is in on this, isn’t he?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, too. Of course he is. How is that even-

“Technically it’s active firefighters only,” Bobby admits, and they all fire up in unison. Eddie can feel the protest burning at the back of his throat and Chimney’s back is ramrod straight, but Bobby holds up his hands to fend them off. “But I cleared it with the Chief because Buck’s only out on extenuating circumstances. Besides...It’s dodgeball.”

Eddie isn’t sure that’s all that much comfort. For a game with soft balls, it’s caused more than its share of accidents, and Chimney is probably overdue for his yearly near-death experience, but at the very least, if anything does go wrong, there won’t be a shortage of first responders on hand.

“Means we’re a player up, though,” Hen says contemplatively.

“Actually,” Bobby corrects them again, “We’re just right. Bosko isn’t on our team. Her firehouse might have been wiped out in the Tsunami, but the crew are still active. They requested to take part together. If anything they’re down a man because Cooper is still on the mend. He won’t be back in action in time.”

“When is it?” Chimney asks.

“Saturday.”

Hen’s elbow drops off the table and her jaw nearly hits the surface. “In three  _ days _ ?”

“They don’t give you much warning so that they can try to limit cheating, bribes and training,” Bobby shrugs. “We don’t even know where they’re hosting it all; they send out a directive the night before.”

Eddie puffs out a breath. “You all take your dodgeball seriously.”

“Oh, it’s war,” Hen agrees, halfway between enthusiastic and long suffering. “How are they staggering the tournament?”

“Alternating teams in regions,” Bobby replies. “It’s voluntary, and to raise money for the paediatrics ward at Cedars, so they’re scheduling in teams to play on their off-days. Someone in Headquarters has the logistical nightmare of piecing all this together.”

“But we’re all in, right?” Chimney asks, looking up and down the table.

“It’s for kids,” Hen says.

“And to find out who’s the best,” Chimney points out, quickly followed up with, “But mostly for the kids, of course.”

“What about families?” Eddie puts in. “It’s a weekend, Cap. Kids won’t be in school.”

“Invited, of course,” Bobby says. “The more family the better, I think the Chief said.”

“For maximum humiliation,” Chimney nods sagely.

“Three days?” Eddie asks, steering them back. “That’s when we draw ours?”

Bobby nods. “Yes, so rest up well Friday night. I’ll text you all the place as soon as I know and we need to assemble there as early as possible.”

“You’re making us sound like the Power Rangers,” Hen snorts. “So. What about up until then?  _ Three days _ \- they don’t know their own First Responders. That’s 48 hours to practice.”

Bobby’s smile spreads from ear to ear. “Absolutely right, Wilson. That’s the kind of dedication I want out of all of you. I already pulled a favour with one of the local schools. We have a crate of dodgeballs arriving in ten minutes. I hope no one had any plans tomorrow.”

.

Buck thinks it’s hilarious for all of thirty seconds before he realises Eddie is serious.

“Wait, really?” He asks, blinking, all his laughter stalling at the back of his throat and turning into a cough.

Christopher giggles quietly in the back seat of the car.

It’s been a long shift - just as taxing between calls as on them. They all gave up the gym in favour of perfecting their aim and taking turns being live target practice. The sky is dark again, evening sinking in like rocks dropping through water, and Eddie’s shift finished almost three full minutes ago (a lot, to a first responder who can vanish from the firehouse in a ladder truck in under fifty seven seconds) but they’re still sitting here, in Buck’s car in the parking lot.

Eddie’s is in the garage for an annual service check and it’s odd, to be getting a lift from the firehouse rather than going to pick up Christopher himself, but it’s a warm, buzzing kind of odd that sits like sugar in his veins. Carpooling more when Buck is back at work might be a good idea. The rising moon slides through the windows and the radio hums quietly under the drumroll of the engine and Buck’s still looking at him.

“Really,” Eddie sighs. “And it gets better because you’re taking part.”

Buck finally remembers the engine, and shakes himself, wearing a gleeful smile, to move the gear shift and start pulling away. Eddie turns to look into the back seat. Christopher beams up at him and all the long hours of the day start to drain away.

“Hey, Buddy, you have a good day?”

He nods, kicking his legs freely. “Yeah, it was really fun. We played with Legos and Buck drew me a firetruck.”

“And what do you think? You want to hang out with Abuela tomorrow, or watch all the adults practice for the game?”

“I want to go with Abuela,” Christopher decides. “You’re going to need lots of practice, Dad.”

.

The text comes through at ten past eight on Saturday morning.

Eddie is already awake, so he calls for Christopher to put his shoes on, sends his Abuela the location of the whole thing, and then messages Buck.

Abuela heard about the charity tournament through Christopher, then nearly wrung Eddie’s neck for not telling her himself before promptly inviting the whole family along to watch and support. Eddie let it happen, both aware that no one easily stopped Isabel Diaz when she had made up her mind about something, and also just a little happy for the chance to see them and show them a little of his life and his people. He’s gotten used to no longer being in El Paso and his parents being so close, but there’s something nice in knowing that his blood family are making an effort to be there for him, however gimmicky the day is.

Buck replies with an ‘on my way’ and a dash of wind emoji. Christopher appears in the doorway with his shoes on and on his crutches. Eddie’s phone buzzes again as Abuela says they’ll be there in time for kick-off.

He doesn’t bother trying to explain there’s really not meant to be any kicking.

.

Charity dodgeball is exactly as wild, unruly and hazardous to health as all of the pep talks, prior horror stories and hospital records made it sound. It’s perhaps even worse so when played by a bunch of first responders, many of whom have medical training, and therefore also possess a precise understanding of both physics and biology. All of these skills are used to devastating effect as the games progress, given they all know just where to aim to drop a full grown, healthy, fit human right where they stand without doing any lasting damage.

They’re three games in and one man down by the time they hit the lunch-time recess.

A large indoor basketball court has been purloined for the occasion, and the stands sectioned off with various flags and coloured tape to mark off rudimentary home corners for each team. Along the far wall, opposite all the locker and shower rooms, are two huge double doors that they’ve left open onto the sun and lined with all the food tables.

“Alright, take the hour,” Bobby calls around their section, trying to keep his eyes on his team amid the various family members who’ve pooled in to watch. “Rest up, replenish, come back fighting.”

“I think he’s taking this too seriously,” Hen mutters sidelong to Karen.

“He is taking this too seriously,” Karen shoots back.

But Eddie kind of privately thinks Karen doesn’t have much room to talk given she’s made an entire sign that’s taller than Denny to hold up and cheer them on, brought confetti in a huge bucket, and her own foghorn.

He’s not sure if she just had it lying around at home or if she bought it for the occasion and he’s not sure which is worse.

It’s been a source of morbid fascination; seeing Bobby’s easy amusement from three days before morph into actual Drill Sergeant disposition, almost in time with the way Hen’s early morning flurry of heckling and feral glee has gentled into casual enjoyment. They’re only halfway through and Eddie’s not sure who’s going to have a change of heart next.

“I gotta eat,” Buck says, walking off the court with Eddie and leaving an abandoned dodgeball rolling in their wake.

Eddie snorts, ready to tell him to go before Chimney beats him to it, when Christopher calls out to them from the stands. Eddie’s family are clustered just a couple of rows up, having all arrived in one stretched out sedan halfway through their first play. Isabel Diaz has assembled them all; his nieces and nephew milling the benches between her and Aunt Josephina. As Eddie spots them, Abuela is just helping Christopher down to the court floor on his crutches.

Buck follows him even though the food tables are the other way.

“How are we doing,  _ mijo _ ?” Eddie asks him, crouching down.

“Good,” Christopher says cheerfully. “It’s good you practiced.”

Eddie laughs. Buck makes a wounded noise of indignation and Christopher sways, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“This is an accident waiting to happen, Eddie!” Isabel calls down to them, but she sounds amused.

Eddie shoots a look past Chris up at her. “Hey, take it up with Bobby.”

“Take what up with me?”

Eddie snaps his head around, in time to catch Bobby appearing next to them, all fake menacing as he claps a hand on Buck’s shoulder. Like the rest of them, he’s in his LAFD t-shirt and more casual jeans, but unlike them he’s wearing a silver whistle around his neck and a flannel headband that’s pushed his hair up into spikes and given him a bit of a harried, alarming look. None of them have told him that.

Buck smiles under the press of his hand then shoots a look down to wink at Christopher.

“Nothing,” Buck says. “It’s going great.”

Bobby eyes them all suspiciously, dragged out until Christopher is trying not to laugh and Isabel’s smiling fondly at down at them, then nods to himself. “That’s what I thought. This is priceless team building.”

“ _ Y necesitas más de eso _ ?” Josephina says to herself, shifting through a bag. “They all seem so close, no?”

Bobby’s eyebrow lifts, but he doesn’t ask what the Spanish was. Josephina produces a drink bottle from the recesses of her bag and hands it across to one of the nieces. Buck doesn’t appear to be listening, attention diverted behind them.

“Hey, you made it!”

Eddie stands up and looks around.

Maddie is hurrying across the court from the open doors and in her wake is Josh, whom Eddie has met a grand total of once but knows through the grapevine is apparently a great guy and one of Maddie’s best friends at work.

“Yeah, sorry,” she calls, “There was no one around for shift cover this morning so I had to stay until at least eleven, and then Josh said this might be fun to hit up instead of heading home so I hope it’s okay that I brou-oh my God,  _ Chim _ , what happened?”

At precisely the same moment that Eddie remembers they had a man down, Buck also seems to realise that Maddie hasn’t been aiming for him, but their accident-prone colleague.

Chimney isn’t too bad, really. He has his hand wrapped in an ace bandage but nothing actually drew blood this time.

“I’m fine,” Chimney says, gesturing to it the way that a child might gesture to a full cast on their arm in a classroom; with a distinct air of pride. “Just a tiny strain. I think it was the spin I put on that last ball-”

Hen snorts so loudly up in the stands that it echoes.

Chimney seems to consider shooting her either a glare or some choice words, but apparently decides accepting Maddie’s fawning is preferable to both those things.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos, leaning down to gently inspect it. “Do you want me to look at it?”

Buck beats him to replying.

“Oh, that’s okay - Don’t worry about me; it’s not like we’re family or anything.”

Maddie throws them a look, and Eddie feels pointedly trapped in the cursory glance around their corner of the stands. She rolls her eyes. “You look like you’re coping fine with that, to me,” she says, and turns straight back to Chimney.

Josh covers his mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking.

Eddie looks at Buck. He’s expecting a blustering protest or calls for injustice, but what he gets is a casual, pleased little shrug that seems to say ‘yeah, fair’, before Buck leaves Maddie and Chimney to themselves. Something burns hot and sharp in Eddie’s chest.

Bobby squeezes Buck’s shoulder again, claps Eddie on the back, and then makes his way across the hall to check on the next cluster of teammates. Athena couldn’t make it; she pulled a weekend shift on the rota two weeks before the tournament was even announced, and Michael had already arranged to take the kids out. Eddie felt a little bad for him when they first arrived, but it’s already become pretty obvious that the entire team are sort of Bobby’s kids anyway, and he doesn’t seem at all bereft because the family he married into isn’t there.

Eddie also started feeling a lack of sympathy somewhere around ten thirty-seven, which is also when it started dawning on them all that Bobby might be even more in it to win than the rest of them combined.

“I still need food,” Buck says finally. “Before Chimney gets there. Sisters are good for something.”

Eddie shoves his shoulder into him and Buck rocks back, coughing to cover a laugh.

“I’m hungry,” Christopher says. “Can I come, Buck?”

Eddie’s already nodding reassurance before he can be asked for it.

“Sure, Buddy,” Buck says. “Let’s go.”

He reaches out, ruffling Christopher’s hair as he lets him past, and then waves a hand towards the Diazes in the stands before following Chris off down the court.

Finally stood there alone, Eddie heaves a breath - feels a touch too light-headed to really think about eating this second - and makes his way up to his Abuela.

“ _ Gracias por venir, Abuela, _ ” he says when he reaches her, and obligingly returns the hug when she extends her arms to him.

“We would not have missed it,” she says warmly. Her eyes narrow on him as they part and she nods to herself. “I haven’t seen you enough over summer. At least you’re both eating.”

Eddie sighs, nodding. “It’s been really...a lot to get through,” he tells her. “With Christopher’s nightmares, and dealing with water-”

“And Buck,” Isabel adds.

Eddie’s still warm from the last game, and it’s a warm day, and he hopes that’s enough that no one will notice if the implication behind the name sends a flush into his skin.

“Yeah, he’s been struggling a bit, too,” Eddie says, because that seems safer than asking her what she means, even if he’ll never elaborate.

He also knows he’d be inviting more questions if he admits that lately, Buck cooks breakfast for him and Christopher more often than he doesn’t.

He lets the conversation lapse; waits to see if she’ll push anything, or if she has anything else she wants to bring up. Finally, when he doesn’t offer any more, she moves on. 

“Christopher told me you weren’t leaving.”

Eddie sighs. He’s not all that surprised this is the chosen topic, honestly. “I told you we weren’t, back when they said it after Shannon died. I just...had that talk with Christopher, is all.”

“I shouldn’t have let it slip to him,” Isabel shakes her head at herself.

“You already apologised,” Eddie reminds her. “It’s no big deal; we talked about it. He’s happy here, so am I.”

Isabel shoots him a sideways look. “I can see that.”

It’s too pointed to mean anything as simple as the firehouse or the team, or the effects of the California sun. Instinctively, he finds himself looking around for what she might have picked out of the crowd and his eyes land on Buck first, because when don’t they. He’s holding Christopher upright so he can put all his strength into throwing a dodgeball at Denny. Eddie can’t even really be surprised they got waylaid on their way to the food.

“Mmhm,” Isabel says, pressed between her lips, and Eddie thinks that’s just a fraction unfair because that’s his kid so surely she shouldn’t get to insinuate anything about it. But then...that’s his kid, and Eddie turned around looking for Buck. Maybe that says entirely too much.

“ _ No empieces, Abuela _ ,” Eddie groans.

“ _ No estoy empezando nada _ ,” Isabel says, loftily, entirely too shrewd and aware. “ _ Parece que empezaste algo allí por tu cuenta _ .”

She-

She’s right. He knows she is.  _ You started something there all on your own _ .

He doesn’t know exactly what, but they did. They allowed it, watched it bleed into their lives and didn’t do anything to cauterise it. It is at his hands; his and Buck’s. But whatever it is, it’s too unknown and fresh to bear the intrusion of anyone else.

He watches Buck and Christopher, because watching them is easier than meeting his Abuela’s eyes when they’re so knowing. Buck cheers when Christopher lands the ball; rebounding off of Denny’s knee, and Christopher laughs, rebalancing himself on his crutches and starting to clatter off with the other kids.

Buck watches him go for a moment, distracted when a ball hits him square between the shoulder blades. He staggers forwards, laughing as the air punches out of him. He wheels around, catches it from the ground as it starts to roll away and flings it back in Maddie’s direction while she darts, squealing, behind a Chimney who’s snuck up to the food table.

He doesn’t see it coming and it knocks a whole sausage roll flying right out of his hands.

A hand sets on Eddie’s shoulder, and he turns away from the court to look up at Isabel. That knowing expression that’s so hard to face sometimes has quieted. Instead, she’s looking at him with such deep fondness that the weight of it feels like a warm blanket. Eddie reaches up to pat her hand.

“You’re right,” he tells her. “I know. I just…it’s been worrying at times, since the wave, and that was more important. Sometimes things just need time.”

Vagueness feels infinitely safer, right now. Isabel raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Time, yes,” she says. “But I’m getting old, Edmundo.”

Eddie snorts. “You’re not getting old, Abuela. Not a day over forty.”

She reaches out with her other hand to clap him, feather light and reprimanding on the ear. “The cheek!” she says, shaking her head at him.

Eddie ducks his gaze and squeezes her hand. She falls quiet and the sound around them increases. There’s a buzzing ruckus filling the hall; the sound of several teams of first responders and all their families packed into one place and fighting over all the wandering dodgeballs and free food. It fades to white noise as Isabel pats his cheek affectionately.

“ _ Te amo, Nieto _ ,” she says to him gently, a murmur louder than the rest of the world. “You said you’re happy here. Let yourself be.”

Aunt Josephina leans over to them and the stolen moment tears away. The cacophony of noise burrows into Eddie’s head, too loud in his ears, and too bright behind his eyes. “And perhaps-” Josephina says, flicking a finger over to the far wall “-you should do it before it’s too late.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder and feels suddenly like the world’s sped up, funnelling down a telephoto lens until it’s several times further away than it should be.

Buck’s standing alongside the food table by the huge open doors, haloed almost blindingly in the white light pouring from outside. He’s talking to a young woman as he gathers up food, and nothing about that should stand out, but it does. She’s got an unassuming smile and isn’t even standing all that close; it’s leagues away from one of the earliest calls Eddie went on with the 118 to the rodeo bar and the women milling the lot that day. They had been forward in a way that was not flirting so much as propositions and it had been hard to miss.

There’s really very little reason that he should be able to tell all the way across a basketball court that this woman is hitting on Buck, but he can.

_ Good for him _ , he tries to think solidly, and immediately there’s a sour taste at the back of his throat, a flare of irritation in his bloodstream that ignites like gunpowder, and a hollow, dropped beat in his heart.

Buck kept talking about an earlier version of himself, and the new one he was intent on being, but the thing is, Eddie’s never known Buck 1.0, and there was safety in audacity back then. The Buck he knew, quite aside from having an absentee girlfriend at the time, would never have gone for the girls at that rodeo bar, even if he might have a year before. But this - this is subtle, and it hurts to watch.

Josephina scoffs. “ _ Dale algo por lo que ser feliz _ .”

“ _ Tía _ !” Eddie blurts, shocked. He wills that flash of thought not to take root, wheeling around to face her because he doesn’t want to look at the other sight any more.

She shrugs at him, unrepentant, and turns back to the kids. Isabel looks like she’s trying hard to fight a smile. Before Eddie has quite worked out what to say to either of them, someone is pressing into his back firmly - too firmly to be accidental - and he takes the escape that it offers him.

He turns and comes face to face with Karen.

“Don’t forget to eat, Honey,” she says, hands falling away from him. “You doing okay?”

There’s a gentleness in her eyes, and Eddie can’t quite work out whether that’s just Karen as usual, or whether she thinks there’s a reason he wouldn’t be. He wonders for a split second if she saw anything, and can’t decide if that’s scary or relieving. Either way, he could be imagining it, so he shakes it off.

“I’m great.” He lifts an arm to fold her into a quick hug. “Thanks. You having fun up there?”

Karen wafts a hand towards her camp in the stands. “It’s all in good fun,” she shrugs, and her eyes glint as she smiles and adds, “Just don’t go spraining anything. Chim is more than enough.”

“It’s about donating money to Cedars,” Eddie says, trying to bite back a smirk. “Not about donating more patients.”

Karen tuts, and then slaps his arm in an attempt to cover her laugh. “You’re terrible. Try not to lose.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She nods and walks away and Hen makes her way over to him to replace her.

“Holding up, Hen?” Eddie asks.

“I still got a few good plays in me,” she says consideringly. Hen has flannel wristbands on, striped like the lesbian flag. Eddie saw her catch a ball clean out of the air in their first game and then nearly brain someone from the other team who was very nearly Buck’s height but twice as wide and built like a ladder truck. He went down like a sack of potatoes and the retaliation on Hen came back hard early on.

“Think of the children,” Eddie tries. “Or Bobby’s wrath.”

Hen laughs, eyes skipping past him in the direction everyone seems to be wandering off to. “Oh I’m not done yet, but Karen’s cooking lasagne tonight for everyone no matter who wins, the kids ward gets the donations no matter who wins, and I already made fifty bucks when the three of you showed up together, so I think I can call it a good day whatever happens now.”

Eddie blinks. Three of th- Did she… bet on him arriving with-

“Bobby wanted Power Rangers, he’s getting Power Rangers,” Hen continues, apparently either unaware he’s still puzzling her last words, or trying to head him off. “But I’m gonna need some food if we’re going to beat the rest of these guys.”

She slips past him, with a nod and wave to the rest of the Diazes, and it’s as she passes him that Eddie spots what looks like white tape, stuck across her back to her firehouse t-shirt. It’s scrawled with block capital letters, written in sharpie.

HEN WRECK ‘EM WILSON

He’d laugh, but Buck and Christopher are headed back towards them, Christopher in the lead and Buck carrying a handful of food and drinks.

“Eddie, go help him.  _ Dios mio, _ ” Isabel grumbles at him, but by then Buck’s reached them, so Eddie just takes the plate of fries he’s passed while Christopher sits on the bench closest and Buck carefully hands him a drink.

It’s only when he’s sipping delicately at the lip of the cup that Eddie really notices that it doesn’t have a lid, and that it appears to be some kind of squash drink; more diluted down than anything he’s drunk since the Tsunami.

Buck steps back by Eddie’s shoulder and also hands him a sealed bottle of water. “He asked for it,” he mutters. “Hope that’s okay?”

Eddie feels irrationally choked up as he nods.

“Yeah of course.”

“Oh, also it’s possible I used your son to escape a woman back there,” Buck admits, grimacing slightly in apology, eyes flickering back over his shoulder. “So sorry about that.”

Eddie’s kind of too wildly relieved and too busy trying not to unpack all the reasons why to either respond or wonder if he’s meant to not be okay with Christopher being used to cockblock.

Buck’s suddenly distracted, though, leaning around Eddie with a frown, that a second later turns into a burst of laughter. He gently pushes Eddie’s shoulder to turn him away and Eddie lets him. He’s mildly curious, and it doesn’t even occur to him to resist. He hears the thick ripping sound of tape peeling away from cotton and already knows what’s coming.

Buck turns him back and holds out a long, white, home-made sticker with his own name on it in block sharpie.

EDDIE DENT ‘EM DIAZ

“Buck has one too,” Christopher offers up serenely, setting aside his cup.

Buck sticks the end of Eddie’s to his arm so he can start spinning in a circle, head craned around as far as he can reach, like a puppy chasing its own tail. There’s white tape on his back, high between his shoulder blades, but that’s all Eddie can see as he whirls past twice in quick succession. He pulls his own piece of tape off, tossing it down on the bench next to Christopher, who’s laughing freely. Isabel is shaking her head above them.

Eddie reaches out to Buck and stalls him. He doesn’t stop to think about it; he’s never stopped to think about it before whenever he’s had to shift Buck or move around him; it’s a seamless, familiar part of the way they’ve always communicated. Then his fingers come to rest in the groove of Buck’s spine, in the small of his back, and he wonders if maybe he should have thought this particular one through.

Buck goes completely still in an instant, so sudden and so total that Eddie can almost feel the kinetic energy buzzing up through his fingertips because it needs somewhere to go the same way a lightning strike needs to touch ground.

Quickly, he rips the tape off with his free hand and shifts his fingers, presses into the side of Buck’s waist to turn him, and then lets go feeling scalded. He’s probably dehydrated, and being ridiculous, and maybe just a little bit curious what would have happened if he’d have pressed harder.

He looks down at the tape for something to refocus on and a startled spark of hilarity stabs through his lungs. He starts laughing and Buck snatches it off of him.

BUCK BUCKLE ‘EM BUCKLEY

Buck blinks at it, his mouth pulling into a bemused smile, possibly at the absence of his actual name, and Eddie leans across him.

“Makes you wonder what Chimney’s says, doesn’t it?”

.

They all gather at Hen and Karen’s after evacuating the sport hall.

Athena arrives as soon as her shift is over, bringing a bottle of wine. She’s also brought two cards with her; one says an elegant ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ and the other a beautifully cursive ‘Deepest Sympathies’. Both have been signed by Athena’s Captain, Elaine, in addition to half the bullpen at the station.

“I couldn’t decide which one,” Athena says, handing out the first to Bobby as she greets him with a kiss, and passing the second off to Buck.

Bobby’s eyebrows rise, even as he smiles, apparently despite himself.

“Wow, you really thought we were going to lose, huh?”

“I’m a perceptive woman,” Athena replies.

Chimney leans into them, “At least when Buck was requalifying last time we had one cake that said he’d pass. Fifty fifty.”

“The only congratulations one I could find on short notice also said New Baby,” Athena says flatly. “And I can’t believe I’m saying it, but Buck requalifying was a sight more likely than you lot beating out every firehouse crew who signed up for this mess.”

“For Charity!” Bobby reminds her brightly, as though that excuses the maniacal chaos part.

Buck, frowning, wafts the card in his hands. “Am I meant to be insulted or not that me requalifying was more likely?”

“Nn-mm,” Hen hums, shaking her head at him from over Athena’s shoulder. “Don’t ask.”

The two cards are stood proudly up on the mantelpiece where they can’t be overlooked and where Paisley can’t get to them.

Michael calls ahead to say he can drop off May and Harry, if Bobby wants to see them after his other kids disappointed him and Karen tells him off by yelling across the kitchen at the phone. She sends Buck to set an extra place for Michael as well.

Buck goes, protesting the idea that they are in any way a disappointment after holding out for four matches.

“I thought I trained them better,” Bobby laments to Athena in the corner where they’re sharing an overstuffed armchair and letting everyone else fix up the food around them. She hides her smile in his shoulder and pats him consolingly on the hand.

The whole lot of them just about manage to squeeze around Hen’s dining table, pulling in extra chairs from other rooms and squashing up all the place mats. Karen pulls out two full size lasagne dishes from an oven that doesn't look big enough for them both, and the house smells pleasantly of home-cooked beef and garlic bread as they all assemble themselves into seats.

They’re used to quick departures, so as soon as the food is finished, everything is a flurry of motion.

Karen starts assigning chores - kids collecting cups, Bobby and Athena stacking plates, Hen sent to get a cloth for the table. It’s normal practice; they all pitch in to help out whenever one of them hosts a big meal for the team, and Eddie’s not really listening to it until he hears Buck’s name.

“Buck, Honey, would you run the sink ready for the dishes?”

Eddie figures his head probably snaps up too fast to be subtle, but he kind of hopes it’s lost amid the rest of the activity around the table.

Buck’s shoulders have gone stiff, but he’s already shaking it out, nodding and smiling, tension carefully hidden from view. “Yeah, of c-”

“I got the sink,” Eddie says. He dumps two empty glass bake trays into Buck’s hands and then slips around him with a tiny tap on the back of his arm, where he hopes it won’t be seen too easily. He’s pretty sure that even if some of the crew suspect that Buck is aversive with water, it’s not something they’d push right now, and Eddie is even more sure that Karen asked it thoughtlessly, no idea what scar she might be pressing on or cutting open. It’s true that facing fears is good, but forcing yourself to ignore them or fight through them isn’t the same thing, and Eddie doesn’t want to test that knot of tension at the back of Buck’s neck in a full house right now.

He feels Buck staring after him, and only glances back when he reaches the doorway, hoping it was the right call; that Buck isn’t annoyed with him instead.

Karen has shrugged and continued tidying off the leftovers into tupperware. Chimney and Maddie are too busy giggling together to pay any attention to much else. Bobby’s eyes dart between the two of them, but Eddie just gives him a firm glance and turns away. The conversation they had in Athena’s garden is all too sharp a memory in Eddie’s head; Bobby knows Eddie won’t tell him anything, and he respects it. If he wants to know what’s going on, he has to ask Buck.

Buck is stood exactly where Eddie left him, but he looks unguarded under the warm lights, the shape of his shoulders soft, and his mouth tugs into a quiet, gentle smile. He nods, mouths  _ thanks _ , and starts collecting more plates.

Eddie’s heart feels lodged somewhere in his throat as he slips through into the much quieter, emptier kitchen.

Hen and Karen’s kitchen is a lovely, cosy space, and most of it is neatly organised away, leaving just the fridge as a point of near chaos, covered in IVF leaflets, work schedules and Denny’s drawings. It reminds Eddie a little of the fridge at home, though theirs has less of Eddie’s life on it, in favour of Christopher’s artwork, emergency contact numbers, doctors details and a fire procedure chart. Still, the organisation of everything else makes it easy to clear the sink and start running the water.

Eddie fills it up, finds some washing up liquid and pours some of that in, too. By that time, the others have started carting through handfuls of cutlery and plates, one by one in a production line. He steps clear to let Hen in and as he sinks against the counter, he realises just how tired he is.

As soon as the thought comes, it’s like a sedative straight into his bloodstream, that slow, dark pull at the edges of everything.

He tries to muffle a yawn behind his hand, rubbing at his eyes, but Hen nods knowingly at him. “It’s been a long day.”

“Probably a longer one tomorrow,” Eddie says.

They’re all back on shift in the morning. No doubt they’ll be up and down the city all day.

“Preach,” Hen mutters. “Man, people are so dumb.”

Eddie snorts.

Christopher pokes his head around the doorway, smiling cheekily, before ambling in, using the doorframe to help support himself because he doesn’t have his crutches. Paisley follows him at a bobbing little trot, ears flopping happily and eyes hidden under a mop of fluff as he makes his way to his water bowl.

“Hey, Buddy,” Eddie says, forcing that burst of tiredness away. “What’s up?”

“I’m tired,” Christopher says apologetically, shooting Hen a downed look. She just gives him a deeply fond smile.

“Me, too, Christopher,” she says. “You can have your dad back, if you want to go. I’m done with him.”

Eddie gives her a smile of thanks before pushing himself off the counter. “Yeah, you ready to go? We have to ask Buck, though - since we came in his car. Where are your crutches?”

“Buck has them already,” Christopher rolls his head back, voice long-suffering. “He’s ready, Dad.”

There’s a jumped beat of Eddie’s heart as it squeezes, and something liquid and unnameable drips into his bloodstream, thick as syrup. He’s so much more tired, suddenly, and with that comes senses that pulse in his head, hazy one second and piercingly vivid the next.

He shakes himself and scoops up Christopher. “Alright then,” he says, enthusiastic as he can muster. “Let’s go say goodnight, then.”

.

Buck drops them at home and drives off. Eddie’s kind of thankful he’s so exhausted that it doesn’t leave room for overthinking or wild thoughts. He’s had enough of them for the day already, so instead he sees Christopher to bed and then crashes onto his own. He barely remembers falling asleep.

.

It’s two days later when Eddie’s unpacking Christopher’s usual backpack that he tugs a dog-eared sheaf of paper from between the pages of a book that he carries with him, even if he doesn’t read a lot at once.

It’s a firetruck. The lines are in pencil, scribbled and unclean, but with more conceptual understanding than that of a child. It’s in the slant of the ladder, the different sizes of the panels, and the way one of the labels is still visible under the crayon - HOSE. Christopher may have coloured it; the bright red block filled sections, the yellow hubcaps and slate grey panels all look like his. There’s even the standard blue light over the cab, dashes indicating the siren is on. Eddie isn’t sure Christopher has ever drawn a firetruck with the light off. Christopher didn’t draw it, though. Buck did that.

Eddie finishes unpacking the backpack, then repacks it with the things Chris still needs, and fresh snacks so he’s ready to leave when Carla arrives.

It’s early, he’s tired, and there’s a space between Christopher’s emergency contact list and the fire procedure chart. Eddie sticks the drawing to the fridge door before he leaves for work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while to proof-read and edit this one - lots of niggly bits I wanted to get just right and it's a busy week. Will try not to keep the (maybe? hopefully?) last bit not hanging too long :)
> 
> Thanks again, still, so much for all the people enjoying it and taking the time to comment. It means the world. Hope you like this bit!

Eddie doesn’t think too much of the drawing.

Sure, it catches his attention whenever he opens the fridge, but he doesn’t actually  _ think _ much of it. It’s haphazard lines of pencil, trying to recreate from memory something as familiar to Buck as breathing, but without the drawing skills to show it. And then it’s been purposely coloured over. The drawing isn’t the point; it’s more about knowing that this is something the two of them sat and did one day.

It does seem to mean something else to Christopher, though.

The picture has been on the fridge for less than a week when Eddie gets home to find Carla and Christopher in the kitchen, surrounded by the usual collection of crayons and felt tip pens. Chris is drawing a firetruck, which in itself is so far from unusual that Eddie barely notices as he hugs Carla, gratefully takes the mug of tea she gives him and then sees her out so she can get home to her kids.

It’s only as he’s starting to make dinner, and Christopher is still hunched over the table, tongue between his teeth in focus, that Eddie thinks to lean in to look.

It’s… different.

“What you drawing there, Buddy?” Eddie asks, ruffling his hair.

Christopher hasn’t drawn it like he usually does; a big bold rectangle outline with loops along the bottom to fit in the wheels, a lot of focus on where a hose might fit and an oversized siren above the cab. This siren is small, the ladder bulkier and there are three wheel arches not two, to allow for the extra set at the back. The sides have been bisected with lines, marking out panels for storage hatches as well as cab windows.

“It’s a firetruck,” Christopher tells him, apparently too absorbed to realise that Eddie’s asking a question he clearly already knows the answer to.

“It’s a good one,” Eddie replies.

Christopher looks up to beam at him. “Buck showed me. He said you keep everything in different places on the truck, and that sometimes there’s a water gun on the top, too.”

Eddie shoots a glance to the fridge. It’s still possible to just about see some of the labels on the sketch and it belatedly occurs to him that maybe Buck hadn’t just drawn Christopher a truck to colour, but that he’d been teaching him about the vehicle itself.

Eddie sits down next to Christopher. “Yeah, sometimes there is,” he says. “Do you want to know what goes where?”

Christopher picks up the black pen again and holds it out to Eddie. He pushes the piece of paper across to him, finger pressing at one of the boxes in the side of the truck.

“That one is where the jaws of life are,” he says. “And this is the hose. Can you write on it like Buck did? I don’t remember the rest.”

“Of course I can.” Eddie takes the pen and nods. He tugs the drawing over and figures dinner can wait.

Eddie takes a picture of it when Christopher has coloured it in and started to pack up. The black pen isn’t so easily obscured, and it clearly still says things like ‘Hose’, ‘Jaws’ and ‘Refuelling’ as he sends it in a text to Buck.

Three minutes later, his phone buzzes.

Buck 20:14pm   
He remembered them all! I know you don’t know where anything goes

Eddie snorts, and perhaps it means something that his first instinct is to reply that he knows where a lot of things go, and he’d be happy to prove it - when Buck is fit enough to be back at work. He bites that down, ignores the flash of heat prickling into the base of his spine, spearing out through his nerves, and backspaces it in the text box before it’s even fully typed. 

He flicks to the emoji keyboard instead and sends him the middle finger.

.

The next day that Eddie is back at work, he gets sent a text while the firetruck is screaming down the interstate towards an incident involving a collapsed powerline. He doesn’t hear the buzz, and doesn’t check his phone until it’s all been resolved and they’re on their way back up to LA.

Buck 11:17am   
Big day ahead

Attached is a photograph of Buck’s kitchen table, covered in a shower of lego bricks. They’ve pulled out most of the red ones, made a pile for the grey ones, and there’s even a brand new packet amongst it. Buck and Christopher left the house, further than just the corner store or the park. They’ve probably been to the nearby mall, because the packet is from a toy store and contains two sets of lego wheels.

Eddie’s brain is moving too fast, not sure what part of it he wants to lock onto first. There’s the fact that Buck actually, voluntarily left his apartment on his own with Christopher for a destination far enough away he’d had to drive it. There’s the part that doesn’t even really register at all; Buck’s never used the twenty dollar bill Eddie always puts in Christopher’s backpack, not to buy him food or for anything else, so it really doesn’t surprise him that they seem to have gone out shopping for lego supplies. Eddie knows Buck will never accept being paid back for them.

Then there’s the bit he decides is where he’ll focus his energy, because if Buck is telling him that they left the apartment like this; without having to say it, then Eddie won’t make a big deal out of it for him.

15:23pm   
Are you two building a firetruck?

He only has to wait a few minutes. It’s quiet inside his headset, the noise of the truck muted and the others, for once, not engaged in conversation. Eddie feels pleasantly cut off from the chaos of the shift, and as Buck’s reply comes in, lighting up his phone screen, it’s like he’s halfway to being in the apartment with them instead.

Buck 15:27pm   
That was the idea. We tried

15:27pm   
Pictures?

His phone buzzes several times in quick succession, enough to have Hen glancing over at it with a look that sits levelly between fond and suspicious.

Buck was apparently ready with a stream of photos. There’s the carnage of lego bricks on his kitchen table in one, and the leftovers from their lunch sat next to hastily printed out reference photos of firetrucks in another (Eddie doubts Buck owns a printer, so that looks like another stop they made on their morning out). There’s a photo of Christopher in the shopping mall from a short distance away, speaking to the girl in the toy store, and then the last one is him beaming from behind a - well.

Buck’s right - it was certainly an attempt at a firetruck.

Eddie is somewhat distantly aware that he’s smiling far too much at his phone, and that it’s hardly going unnoticed with Hen and Chimney so close by, but he can’t quite make himself stop. His Abuela’s words sit at the back of his head as he taps out a text back.

_ You said you’re happy here. Let yourself be. _

It’s not that simple. It doesn’t feel simple. But maybe letting himself smile without feeling like he needs to guard it or justify it is a start.

.

Eddie’s on a call when the name of Christopher’s school lights up his phone.

His stomach plummets, feeling a lot like the elevator that’s sitting at the bottom of the shaft they’re breaking into; a lead weight as far down as it can go. They know what his job is. They wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency and Abuela couldn’t help over the phone.

“Cap?” he calls across the corridor. “I’m so sorry - can I - just one second?”

He holds up his phone and Bobby nods. He doesn’t even ask.

“Take a minute. Go. Hen; go take up that rope.”

Eddie passes the rope off to her with a hasty “Sorry, thanks” that she waves away, pushing him off and nodding at the buzzing phone.

Eddie ducks around the end of the corridor and answers.

Things were going so well. Of course they couldn’t last.

“Diaz,” he says.

“Mr Diaz!” The voice on the end is polite and warm, but sounds distinctly relieved to get hold of him. “I’m one of the main nurses at Christopher’s school. I’m calling about him, if you have a mome-”

“Wh-what happened? Is he-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. He’s fine,” the nurse quickly says. “It’s just that...I understand the class were playing outside and the sprinklers for the athletics field came on. Christopher...he didn’t cope very well. He’s been crying and agitated since, and calling for you and for a...Buck? And....well, I usually don’t like to suggest it but in this case...I think it might just be best if you took him home for the rest of the day.”

Eddie blinks, tries to breathe and get his brain to turn as he glances around the corner at the activity surrounding the elevator doors. Chim is shining a flashlight into a young man’s eyes. An older woman fluctuates between loud sobs and yelling diatribe down the shaft that they’ve cranked open. Lena looks a hair of a second away from rolling her eyes and giving someone a right hook as she tries to keep a handful of pushy spectators from getting in the way. It all feels foggy under the pressure of  _ sprinklers _ and  _ he didn’t cope very well. _

Eddie wants to ask how they let it happen, and what exactly ‘agitated’ means because he’s picturing the kind of clawing at his own wet clothes and tears that Christopher hasn’t done for a few weeks. There’s no time for any of that, and really; the details aren’t important.

“Uh, look. I’m out on a call but give me a moment. The other person he’s asking for is Buck - uh, Evan Buckley. He’s-” How does he even explain who Buck is to them at this point? He drops the thought instead, brain moving too fast and hollow to find words for it. “I’ll see if he can come and get Chris.”

“Oh, of course,” the nurse says. “I’ll just add his name to the school record; it’ll allow Mr Buckley to take him off the campus. Did you just want him listed as an emergency contact for now?”

“For anything,” Eddie says without thinking.

Christopher is with him half the time anyway. The only reason Buck’s name isn’t already on the school list is because it slipped his mind. There were the holidays and all the nightmares and then Eddie was avoiding thought of the new semester completely. Then as soon as that seemed to look up, there was Buck’s insomnia; trying to get him back to sleeping at night, Christopher reintegrating with his friends and Eddie feeling frayed at the edges.

He’s doing it now, though.

There’s a tapping sound from down the phone; a keyboard. “What is Mr. Buckley’s relationship to Christopher?”

Eddie hesitates. “Does he need to be related?”

“No, Mr Diaz,” she assures him. “It’s just for his file. As the - excuse me - sole parent, you can extend these privileges as you choose.”

He sinks against the wall in relief (doesn’t want to think too hard about what lie he might have told). “Buck is my best friend.” That’s far easier than the nuances of everything that’s been shifting and settling and changing shape around them in the past few months. Besides - “I think he’s actually Christopher’s best friend, too.”

He can hear the smile in the nurse’s voice at the other end. “That’s all done. Christopher is currently with the matron in the principal’s office. He did make it through all of his morning classes before this happened so please don’t worry about him missing anything or catching up. His friends were all very mature about it as well. And if he’s feeling better by tomorrow he can come right back. We’ll just wait to hear from one of you when you arrive, and have someone gather his things.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, and hangs up, heart in his throat.

He’s speeding to Buck’s name on his phone in the next instant, just hoping that somehow, someone can get to the school.

Buck picks up on the first ring even though Eddie knows he’s at the LAFD Headquarters today.

“Eddie? What’s wrong? Aren’t you on a call?”

Eddie doesn’t ask how he knows.

“Yeah, I am. Chris panicked at school. Sprinklers,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry to ask but can you pos-”

“Where is he?” there’s a clattering sound, a thump, and then the metallic clinking of a set of keys. “I’m going to get him right now.”

Eddie really needs to speak to Chimney about this heart problem he’s developing with the way it twists, knotted high in his throat, the beats almost bruising. He’s less keen to speak to him about the other thing.

This is the second time he’s seriously thought about kissing Buck and he knows he’s running out of excuses. This one doesn’t feel quite the same, either; less of a sun-blazed impression playing out in his head and more of a - if he hadn’t asked down the phone, if he’d actually been standing in front of Buck, would he have done it?

Eddie swallows and throws the thought aside. Spiky, impatient worry turns his stomach. “He’s in the principal’s office. They have your name so you can get him.”

There’s lots of racing footsteps down the phone and muffled rustling sounds. It sounds like Buck’s zipping between people left, right and centre.

“I’m on it,” Buck says. “I’ll be there in less than ten. You go.”

“Thanks,” Eddie replies and hangs up an instant after the dial tone flatlines back at him.

“Is everything okay?” Bobby asks when Eddie jogs back over to them, stuffing his phone away and taking up a repelling harness that Chimney holds out.

“Yeah, Cap, thanks,” Eddie nods.

He throws himself down the elevator shaft, biting a flashlight between his teeth, more settled than he was prepared for. He only has to worry about himself for the rest of the day; Christopher will be fine.

Bobby’s always been more than that, though. Eddie is especially aware of it after the conversation around a week before in the quiet sun of Athena’s back yard; he cares so much more and sees so much more than most of them probably know. He waits until they’ve cleared out of the building and offloaded the injuries that needed admittance at the hospital doors. They’re on the way back to the firehouse, but Bobby doesn’t forget, craning himself around in the front seat of the truck.

“Christopher?” he asks, apropos of nothing, the question sounding through the headsets. “The phone call earlier? It’s okay?”

Buck would be with him by now.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “He- uh, panicked at school. He’s still dealing with some of the water related issues. He’s better if he knows it’s happening now; washing his hands and stuff, but when it just hits him… not so much.”

“You didn’t need to go?”

“Buck went to pick him up,” Eddie says, before he’s really considered the intelligence of that.

Predictably, Hen’s head lifts. “Oh, he did?”

They know that Buck’s been watching Christopher, and that he and Eddie are as close as they always were, but Eddie hasn’t told any of them exactly what’s going on around that. It’s not theirs to know and there’s still too much tied up in it to want to explain anyway. It’s the shifting boundaries, the frequent texts, and the way the calls at night are far fewer than they used to be, and how Eddie sometimes hates himself for missing them because he knows it’s a good thing. It’s the way he guards Buck’s lingering aquaphobia from them because it was entrusted to him alone.

Buck will know how to help Christopher after the sprinklers went off, but Eddie won’t tell them that either. Besides, he’s not sure he can really use it as reasoning when it wasn’t even part of his decision in the first place.

“He was asking for me or Buck,” Eddie shrugs, as casually as possible so it doesn’t seem like a big deal. “I couldn’t go. He could.”

“Wasn’t he working today?” Bobby asks.

Hen hums. “Yep. Had a full day shift. But he went.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, but Hen’s eyes are still on him, expectant and weighted, and Eddie swallows just so he doesn’t squirm.

“He went,” he says.

He remembers not even having to ask before Buck had been grabbing his keys. He remembers the concern bleeding down the phone, his impatience mirrored in Buck’s fast hang up. He remembers that knot of anxiety from the nurse’s phone call fraying apart and falling away, even though he hadn’t seen Chris himself - wouldn’t, for hours yet - the moment he hung up, knowing he would be with Buck.

(Eddie remembers the flash impulse of wanting to kiss him, something that hit his nervous system like being struck by lightning. It left him feeling electrified, like he was standing, reeling, vividly alive in the wake of something devastating).

(There’s another memory there, too; weeks old and cloaked in rich shadow, like dark chocolate in his blood as Buck said there were better ways to be used in a voice still raw).

It’s all the little pieces, the fragments, the tiny impulses and half-formed thoughts, aborted before they can become a real shape in his mind, and now they are, only it’s like looking at something that’s always been there rather than something that’s new.

Maybe this is a huge deal already and he didn’t even notice when that happened.

Eddie blinks, looking up and feeling a bit like he’s fallen out of a trance. Or out of a tree. The almost winded, punched out sensation of being knocked on his back, stomach left behind, is distinctly like falling from a height even though he’s sitting still in the truck. Hen looks marginally sympathetic, though there’s knowing in her face. Chimney looks delighted.

“So tell us,” he says, clapping his hands and leaning across into Eddie’s vision. “How long’s it been going on?”

Eddie asks, “What?”

Hen sounds like she’s trying to contain herself as she lightly taps Chimney on the arm and says at the same time, “Give him a minute.”

“You and Buck,” Chimney says, like he’s being slow.

(Maybe he is, a bit, but that’s not their business. Besides, trying to help with Buck’s insomnia once he’d let Eddie see the extent of it had sort of wiped everything else to the side).

_ Going on. Him and Buck. _

“It isn’t,” he says, wildly. He still feels kind of like he’s laying underneath the branches of a tree, flat on his back and realising the sky looks nothing like he thought.

“Isn’t…?” Hen asks leadingly, eyes round and absorbed behind her glasses, apparently forgoing her own advice.

Eddie frowns some more. “Going on,” he says.

Okay, he might be suddenly struggling with a few things - namely the number of times he’s stopped himself from reaching out to Buck, or doing something that definitely crosses a line, without stopping to think about what that might have been - but...This is still confusing.

They think something was  _ already _ happening.

And even if something were to start going on - which, hypothetically, might be something he needs to actually process and figure out now that Buck sleeps more nights than not - he’s not going to tell these clowns first.

“He’s my best friend,” Eddie says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound strangled or cornered as he tries to head them off. “He and Chris went through a natural disaster together. If it’s helping them both to be around each other then-”

“Wait a second.”

They all stop dead and look over to the window where Lena seems to have tuned properly into the conversation. She’s blinking around at them, brow furrowed in confusion and eyes shocked.

“Seriously?” she says. “You and Buck? You’re not…?”

Eddie feels his heartbeat spike as he frowns actually genuinely at her, pounding reverberating in his ears. She doesn’t even  _ know _ Buck - why would she assume-

“Never?” she says, clearly not expecting an answer. She seems to be saying it to herself to try to comprehend it. She blinks again at empty space, shakes her head and then turns back to the window in a kind of stunned quiet that makes it clear her world-view has just shifted.

Eddie stares. Did she really think-

(For a second there, his mind swerves and he’s the one who really thinks it. It’s alarming how easy it is ).

Then Chimney sighs loudly and the thought snaps in Eddie’s brain like a rubber band beyond breaking point. Chimney shakes his head. Hen pats him on the shoulder. Eddie wonders if he’s the only one confused and darts a look through the cab cut out to Bobby - only to find their Captain’s gaze leaping away from the rear view mirror as he tries to hide an ear-to-ear smile.

It falls quiet inside the headsets. The muffled noise of the engine and the road is a distant, constant din outside of them and Eddie casts around for a new topic without trying to sound like he’s avoiding the previous one.

(What is never, anyway? Never what? Never considered it? He can’t say that’s strictly true anymore, even though it was just a small, flash thought at first, easily scattered and cast off as errant. More always seemed like a ledge; a steep slope with no way back once he let himself start down it.

Or did she mean never actually did anything about it?

That’s something else. Thoughts are his own, even if they’re now the kind that don’t shake or wish away easily, but actions...actions will affect Buck, and that’s just not something he’s sure he can do right now. It’s his best friend, it’s a three way support system, a lot to lose and too big a risk).

“You know he’s coming off the meds soon,” Eddie finds himself saying.

He doesn’t feel like he’s avoiding anything if he’s still talking about Buck and this is as good a topic as any.

“I know,” Bobby says from the front. It doesn’t  _ sound _ like he’s still grinning to himself at least.

“I didn’t,” Chimney pitches in. “How did you?”

Eddie doesn’t know who he’s asking so he just shrugs and says, “He told me.”

At the same time Bobby explains that Buck has his medical reviews sent through to the chief to keep them in the loop with his recovery.

“It’s not too far off, now,” Bobby says, and Eddie’s thankful the information doesn’t come from him. He seems to have dug his grave deep enough. “The doctors are really happy with the progress and the plan is to take him off the blood thinners at least two weeks before he retakes his qualifier, so they can assess and make sure everything seems stable.”

“Then he’s home free?” Hen asks, this time no trace of amusement in her voice.

“Should be,” Bobby says brightly. He looks around again, eyes firm and warm and a bit wistful. Eddie knows that Bobby thinks of Buck like a son, and that the familial ties between them are mutual. Bobby’s missed having him on the team but he’s had to be the backbone the others need, and not been able to let it on. Eddie finds he’s understanding that role a lot.

“Buck’s hot headed at the best of times,” Bobby says, and he couldn’t sound fonder of him but Eddie also thinks that’s an opinion from someone who hasn’t seen Buck in the quiet moments with Christopher, or uncertainly checking he’s still welcome after crashing the night on Eddie’s couch. “But we really have you and your son to thank that he’s handled this whole process as well as he has.”

That’s when Eddie realises it’s aimed at him, but he can’t reply. He doesn’t know how to.

He remembers thanking Buck for being there, and being told he didn’t want it, that there was nowhere else he would have been anyway. Sitting in the firetruck as they turn off the freeway and the firehouse comes into view, Eddie gets that even more deeply than the moment he waved off Maddie’s similar thanks in the stairwell weeks ago.

He doesn’t want to be thanked for something that he didn’t do for anyone else, that he would have done anyway, that he can’t imagine not having been there for.

He feels a bit like the fallout from the wave took over their lives a lot, and it did, but it seemed to do even more for Buck. The depression in the wake of the bombing had crippled him more than his actual leg injury, in some ways. He’d already said that helping Christopher had given him a purpose; a piece of himself back. Eddie wonders sometimes if fighting his way back from the trauma of the Tsunami, wanting to get better, had given him some emotional space from what happened to his leg while he tried to fix his head.

He’s not grateful to it; wouldn’t have asked or wished for it in any world. Eddie’s only been there twice to wake Buck from a nightmare that left him gasping for air, the memory of water in his lungs. Twice is enough for Eddie to know that he hates the wave for what it did to him, not to mention every scream and flinch from Christopher. Still, if it was going to leave so many scars, the least it could do was let others heal.

None of that is his to say, though.

So Eddie says nothing and the cab is quiet as the truck coasts to a stop in the main floor of the firehouse and powers down.

“Alright!” Bobby calls amid the flurry of disembarking. “Bosko, run diagnostics and inventory. Wilson, you’re on refueling and engines. Tyres too. Han, get started on PPE checks and re-kitting.”

“I got the ladder,” Eddie says, because he always does, but Bobby stills him with a hand on his shoulder, a vague weight through the thick turnout jacket.

“No, you don’t. I got the ladder this time. You’re out of here.”

“Cap?” Eddie frowns.

“Go on,” Bobby nods to the doors, a smile finding a home on his face. “Go to your son. And say hi to Buck, too, while you’re at it. Tell him he better not be late for dinner at Athena’s on Friday.”

Eddie blinks and has to pull his jaw closed.

Then he’s throwing off the heavy coat, piling it with all the others in front of Chimney as he ticks them all off, and clapping Bobby on the back as he rushes past. “Thanks, Cap. Thanks.”

.

13:47pm   
Where are you?

Eddie sends the text as he turns the engine over and the car rumbles to life. He pulls his belt across and flicks on the air conditioning and by then there’s a reply waiting.

Buck 13:47pm   
Corner store by my place. Want anything?

Eddie finds himself smiling at it.

13:48pm   
No. Meet you there. Been sent home

He sends it, flicks on the signal and steps on the gas, veering out of the parking slot. He’s just joining the traffic passing the firehouse when his phone lights up on the dash again and a glance at it has him biting his tongue. He should laugh it off, probably, but everything inside him has shifted, just enough to drop the volume on what he should do, leaving him swaying somewhere between cautious and reckless.

Buck 13:48pm   
For bad behaviour?

Two more follow in quick succession, thankfully:

Buck 13:48pm   
That’s the whole Diaz family been sent home now. It doesn’t look good.

Buck 13:48pm   
We’re in the frozen foods aisle. Explain to me how you raised a kid who likes pineapple on pizza

The texts stop flooding in.

Eddie feels strangely weightless; drifting inside his own skin, his own bones, like he’s come untethered. The normalcy of the texts, of what’s waiting for him in something as banal as a grocery store feels like inhaling straight off of an oxygen tank; everything a touch sharper, brighter, warmer. The uncertainty vaporises in his bloodstream.

He steps on the accelerator just a little bit harder.

.

Christopher is pushing the cart when Eddie catches up to them.

He’s using it for support while his crutches ride along on the tray at the bottom, and he’s not quite tall enough to see over the handlebar, but Buck gently steers the front around the corner, calling out instructions like the two of them are manning a pirate ship.

No less than four shoppers weaving around the aisles turn little smiles onto the two in just the seconds it takes Eddie to spot them.

The cart is a deep one, even though there’s only four things right at the bottom. Eddie knows it was only a happy accident they worked out the tray was useful for the crutches. The primary purpose of getting these carts over the shallow ones with the high bars is so that Chris can stand on it to be pushed along.

That’s exactly what happens as Eddie ducks around the flower display in the entrance and makes his way towards them.

Buck throws a packet of marshmallows into the cart and then lifts Christopher up, stabilising him on the tray and holding him in place, both of them holding fast to the handlebar as they propell onwards again. Buck steers them around the next corner, Christopher clinging to the cart with one arm extended, finger pointing up, both of them cheering and laughing and Eddie loses sight of them.

He loves them both so much.

He’s loved Christopher since before he even really met him - since he was a blip on an ultrasound monitor and the nurse could have been lying about which bit was an ear. 

But Buck...

He wonders how it’s possible to love someone and know that you’d have their back through anything, that you’d walk through hell or off a cliff for them and still not quite truly know just how much that means. Maybe it’s the line of work. He’s contractually obligated to walk off a cliff for essentially anyone who needs him to, so maybe that’s why he didn’t notice.

It’s easy to put the words to now, as Eddie ducks around the end of the tinned foods and finds them again; in the middle of a serious looking debate at the end of the baking aisle.

And he still wants to kiss him, so there’s that.

Eddie pauses, just obscured by the rack of cake decorations as Buck hands Chris a box of pancake mix at the far end with a wink. He holds the cart steady so Christopher can drop it in with the rest, reaching back up to the shelf to return the box that had the losing vote. Eddie finds his gaze travelling across the stretch in his shoulder, the shift of muscle under the thin spread of his t-shirt. He’s not in his collared shirt and slacks even though he came from his LAFD shift; he changed clothes. Eddie shakes his head at himself.

He’s used to this; not being able to catch his eyes in time, having to tear them away later, when it's too late, when he might have given too much away already. He's used to the way he finds excuses to be close, to orient himself around his best friend like a moon orbiting a planet. He's used to wanting contact from him, too much, maybe, enough that it starts to feel like something he has to drip feed himself so he doesn't overdose.

Being attracted to Buck isn't unfamiliar. Wanting to act on it, that's the part that’s new.

It’s not borne of adrenaline, now, or flash thought, or some impulse he stops himself from making before it’s formed. It’s one that’s rooted deeper, taken hold and stayed. It’s something he actually  _ wants _ and he’s not sure when that happened, but he knows that he’s not sure what the shape of the world is without it being the truth.

(He never really stopped to think about sexuality before.

There was a boy in the tenth grade he thought was cute - mostly his glasses and freckles and the way he constantly broke pencils. But then there was Shannon, and they were so young, and after Christopher, Eddie’s world changed. Even showering and dressing around his Army brothers just became routine, though there had been some wandering eyes and vague thoughts going around at first. That’s all there had ever been, so he never stopped to think about it.

Until now.

And Eddie’s still not asking those questions, not really. It’s just enough that he’s sure about Buck.)

“So. What are you two stocking up on?”

Eddie sweeps up behind Chris and snatches him around the middle, careful not to pull him off the handlebar. Christopher jumps in his hold and shrieks. Buck looks around at them, his startled expression burning into a smile as Chris’ yells dissolve to laughter.

“Daddy! Stooooooop,” he giggles, squirming.

Eddie kisses the side of his head and lets him go, grasping the handle either side of him instead. His hair smells of shampoo again - not his own - and the clothes he’s wearing aren’t the ones he went to school in. There’s no hint of whatever panic he had earlier, though. He’s settled and content, eyes shining behind his glasses.

“We’re getting pancakes,” he says, delighted. “Bucky said we can make them with blueberries.”

Christopher ducks out from under Eddie’s arm and rounds the side of the cart to pat the box of mix.

Buck crosses the aisle to them, drawing up at Eddie’s shoulder and tossing a loaf of bread into the cart, too.

“Blueberries are mostly water,” he mutters, entirely too close to Eddie’s ear given certain revelations he’s had today. He feels the back of his neck shiver with goosebumps and spares half a thought to wonder if Buck will notice, or know why. Still, Christopher doesn’t hear him, which might have been at least part of the point. “So he’s getting more of it but he doesn’t have to drink the stuff.”

Eddie rocks his shoulder back, a tiny motion, and just enough to nudge it into Buck’s.  _ Thanks _ , he mouths, because it’s the only response that’s simple. Chris is improving, but Buck doesn’t seem to tire of finding inventive new ways to adapt around him; including making sure he doesn’t dehydrate despite not drinking plain water.

Buck’s answering smile is a quiet, hidden thing.

“Is it time for ice cream now?” Christopher asks, and Buck seems to startle as he turns to him.

“Almost. One more stop.”

Eddie backs away from the cart so Christopher can fit himself in position again. Buck takes up his precautionary place at the front and tugs very lightly to help start them off. They round the end of the next aisle, Eddie keeping pace with them now. They skip that one, and the next, turn down the third and coast along next to the row of wide, open trunk freezers lining the frozen section.

Two more shoppers cast them those little fond smiles on their way and they stay like liquid warmth pooling at the back of Eddie’s neck after they’re out of sight.

Buck calls for brakes and Chris hauls back on the handlebar, and between the two of them, the cart stops. Buck steps away, humming as his gaze flicks around and then makes a little sound at the back of his throat when he finds it, leaning out over the freezer to grab a bag of frozen peas from the most chilled bit near the back.

His shirt pulls up from his shoulders at the stretch, and Eddie’s eyes skate down the plane of his back again to the sliver of skin that shows at his hip- - and then he does a double take for a totally different reason.

“ _ Dios _ \- Buck - What did you do?”

Buck pulls upright and his shirt falls back into place but Eddie can still see it anyway as he lobs the frozen bag on top of the marshmallows, and looks at Eddie with a frown.

“What?”

Eddie abandons the other end of the cart, circling it to Buck’s side where he tugs at the hem of his shirt, lifting it away. Buck stays very still for a pulsing second and then startles out from his grip, twisting around. Eddie got another glimpse, though.

“Jesus. Does it hurt?”

“No. What- no. I’m fine. It’s-”

“That’s not  _ fine _ , Evan. What happened?”

Buck freezes again, eyes fixed on him, wide and disarmed as he blinks and the air rushes out of him.

Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d let the name slip until he sees the reaction. He feels his own heartbeat in the hollow of his throat, swallows and powers through the faint skip of nerves that dart at the base of his spine like leaning on a pincushion. He moves for Buck’s shirt again, slower.

This time, Buck doesn’t move away. He’s tucked between Eddie, the cart and the row of freezers, but there’s an easy out and he doesn’t take it.

There’s an angry bruise in the angled cut of his hip. It’s a marbled red, blue and green with blotchy purple lines spidering out where blood vessels have ruptured like some kind of thunderous lichtenberg figure. It’s not quite the size of Eddie’s palm; and darker still in a cruel arc right where the iliac crest of Buck’s hip bone sits close under the skin.

To say the bruise is angry feels like a gross understatement.

“What happened?” Eddie asks again.

He glances over his shoulder to check on Christopher - who is paying them little mind as he reaches into the cart to arrange their items - and Eddie realises that when Buck twisted away from him, he’d twisted around so that his injured hip is out of Christopher’s line of sight. Eddie’s heart pulses in his throat at that, and he shifts his shoulder between them anyway.

“It’s really nothing, I swear,” Buck insists, gentle and ringing of honesty. Well, he believes it, at least. “One of the drills I was overseeing. There was a small mishap.”

“Did they swing at you with the hammer and miss the wall?” Eddie half snaps.

He’s  _ Hurt- _

Buck’s fingers gently close on Eddie’s wrist and he feels the full tripping weight of his heartbeat bolt to the pulse point there. There’s no way Buck doesn’t feel it as he coaxes Eddie to let go, pulling his shirt straight again with a quick sideways look at Christopher.

“No,” he says. “Nothing like that. It was barely anything. Someone just knocked me with the corner of the backboard on their way through - wasn’t even anyone on it. It’s the blood thinners. Side effects of preventing your blood coagulating? I bruise way more easily.”

Eddie blinks, trying to piece together the easy, off-hand explanation with the brutality of the wound on Buck’s body. It takes longer to really sink in than it should.

“Like this?” he asks, half horror, half shock. “Since you started on them?”

It’s been  _ months- _

“Yeah,” Buck shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s...manageable. It’s a normal bruise; doesn’t hurt unless I poke at it. It just looks bad. I gave myself one when I walked into my own clipboard, and a bunch of times before that.”

How has Eddie never noticed?

He knew, obviously, that Buck was taking the thinners, and he knew at least conceptually what they did and how they worked. Buck’s never mentioned anything like this, though, and Eddie’s never seen it for himself. 

“That’s the most annoying one, really,” Buck says. His voice is casual; someone who’s made peace with the side effects. “If I nick myself shaving it takes fifteen minutes to stop bleeding, but the bruising is more irritating just because it’s more unavoidable.”

Eddie remembers then; the edge of a fresh bruise on Buck’s arm the day of the science experiments in the kitchen - and he remembers that Buck wore long sleeves for over a week after it. He remembers other long sleeves, and wonders in completely new way at the tiny moment of hesitation trapped in Buck’s shoulders the day he’d stripped out of a damp t-shirt with his back to Eddie the whole time. It’s just one more thing that could have been.

And then he can remember, suddenly vivid and technicolour even though the memory comes from the middle of the night, the unshaven stubble on Buck’s jaw when Eddie had woken him from his nightmare on the couch. Buck stayed for two days, longer than he had perhaps planned on, and he hadn’t shaved once while he was there.

“You didn’t shave,” Eddie mutters. Buck hasn’t moved, and he’s pulled down his shirt but he’s still close, and he goes still again. Eddie looks up at him. “When you sta-”

“I know,” Buck interrupts softly. “No. It- It really is nothing, okay. It’s not dangerous, it’s just annoying, but the last thing I wanted was to accidentally cut myself and have your bathroom look like a murder scene if Christopher saw it. Wasn’t worth it.” Then he blinks, his head tilting slightly. “You noticed that I didn-”

He cuts himself off, and it’s bright enough that it’s easy to see the way Buck flushes across his cheekbones.

“I didn’t think anything of it,” Eddie says, slightly annoyed with himself. “But now it makes sense.”

Buck hid it; all the side effects and the impact they’d had on him for months, and he’d hid it well. Maybe because he didn’t want to worry anyone, or be a burden, or because he just didn’t want to deal with being told to be careful, knowing that he probably already was and it just...couldn’t be helped sometimes. Maybe he didn’t want to think about it himself, and the easiest way was if he never brought it up.

The reason doesn’t matter so much as the realisation that it’s something else Buck’s been going through alone because Eddie is an idiot.

“I didn’t want you to,” Buck points out gently. He exhales slowly, then shifts out of the space between the freezer and Eddie’s body. He hovers there, close in a way he always is, always has been, because they’ve existed at each other’s shoulders since the day they met. “It’s just part of it.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I wish I’d known.”

Buck presses his mouth closed. He won’t apologise, not when he thinks he was protecting Eddie from having to carry this too, and Eddie can understand that. It leaves them at an impasse. Eddie isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or not when Christopher interrupts it.

“Can we get the ice cream now?” Chris asks hopefully, calling across from the far end of the shopping cart.

Eddie breathes out and tries to stop thinking about the angry storm of broken blood vessels and brutalised tissue, printed like a tattoo in Buck’s skin. He shakes himself back to the present, turning around and reaching for the handlebar.

“Absolutely. Come on; I bet we can beat Buck there.”

He can feel the ripple that cuts through Buck, and then the hitched laugh that escapes as he throws off the tiny stolen moment, too.

“Hey,” he protests, clearing his throat. “He’s on my side!”

Christopher, laughing and squinting up towards the bright ceiling, moves around the cart to swipe the handle away from Eddie.

“Hurry, Buck, hurry!”

Eddie’s heart almost stops at the way Buck lights up, at the devious wink he throws. His brain misfires completely as Buck sweeps around him to grab the cart and his hand catches at Eddie’s waist, brushing around his back in a gesture that’s so easy and so almost casual that the intimacy of it floors him.

He kind of wonders how long he’s been dating Buck without noticing, and without really dating him at all. He kind of wants to fill those gaps, because the more he finds himself here, the more the kind ofs aren’t enough.

“Go, go, go,” Buck shouts, and pushes them off.

Christopher is balanced on the tray again, Buck’s arms around him to hold the bar and keep him stable, and Chris cheers as they roll past.

Christopher might fall if Eddie pulled Buck around just to kiss him, and the risk still sits like an unlit firework in his veins, but he thinks about it. Risk or not, he’s all too aware that when Buck reached out, it was cleanly crossing one of their lines, and he’s just as scared of letting that go; letting him leave without returning it in some way, as he is of acting on it.

“I see how it is,” Eddie forces himself to say instead. “You’re on, traitors.”

He rushes to catch up - does so within a few strides - and he places his hands purposefully on Buck’s waist. He’s gentle, careful, so he won’t bruise, now that he knows how easy that is, but he leans all his weight back to bring them to a stop. Buck doesn’t seem to think of resisting, body pliant between Eddie’s hands and struck silent.

Christopher squeals with glee and boos at him.

Eddie squeezes once, fingertips pressing into firm muscle, and lets go. Buck makes a cracked sound of laughter that catches in his throat, and Eddie uses the seconds it’s afforded him to dash past them.

“That’s cheating,” Buck finally yells, when Eddie hits the end of the row, and Eddie only glances back long enough to throw a wink.

.

They’ve just finished paying and are headed for the exit, bags shared between them when chaos strikes.

Or rather - when it gets worse.

There’s already shattered bits of bumper and broken tail lights in the parking lot when they duck outside. They flash under the sun, some still coming to a stop. They’re just in time to see a silver sedan get side swiped by a blue Mini and go careering into a fire hydrant.

It explodes under the chassis spectacularly. The car rears up on its front end, powered off the ground with the pressured water blast, which fires from the ground in a dense column. It’s a fine mist high up in the air, but the rest of it bursts out in a wide-ranging arc from the underside of the car, showering the street. The asphalt, store front and sidewalk splatter heavily as the half airborne car fans water out over a twenty foot radius.

It all happens in a blink.

Buck moves just as fast.

He drops the bag he was carrying and it thumps onto the sidewalk as he turns to curl himself over Christopher, picking him up and whirling them back through the doors into the store entrance.

Eddie races after them, feeling the water hit his back just as the doors slide shut again.

Christopher’s eyes have gone a little hazy, and his fingers are white, clamped in the folds of Buck’s shirt. He’s quiet, and still, and his head curls into Buck’s shoulder, pushing his glasses up off his nose, but he’s dry, and the sidewalk where they’d just been stood no longer is.

Water rains down the glass panes, and seeps under the automatic door, and there’s a deafening drumming sound as the spray hits the windows with fifty pounds of pressure, never-ending.

Eddie reaches up, tousling Christopher’s hair as he refocuses on them. When Chris smiles at him, Eddie shifts to Buck, squeezing his free shoulder. There’s a tremor in the muscle under his touch, even though it doesn’t let on in Buck’s expression, or the steady grip of his arms around Chris. Buck shoots Eddie a look. It’s mostly a sort of ignited, protective fierceness, but the shadows in his eyes are his own.

They’re both so much better than they were, but a Tsunami isn’t something you just leave behind. It’s still there; under their skin, carried with them.

“Wait here,” Eddie says. He stretches to kiss Christopher on the forehead, and he’s both too aware and uncaring of how close it places him into Buck’s orbit. Eddie drops his hand from Buck’s shoulder and lets it catch, feather light at his hip instead. “I got the two of you this time. My turn.”

Christopher smiles, and Buck stops breathing. Eddie watches his mouth fall open, and all the air in him catch in the base of his throat. His eyes flicker, shadows catching fire and the blue of his eyes burns.

Eddie ducks back through the doors into the torrent of water outside, scooping up the fallen bags on the way. He makes a beeline for where he parked his car. He can’t see Buck’s in the lot at a glance, and figures they’d walked, but either way - they can come back for it later. He puts the bags in the back, pulls out the tarp he keeps with the breakdown kit, and then climbs in behind the wheel, firing up the engine and already eyeing the front of the store.

He’ll pull up right outside the automatic doors, block the whole sidewalk and cover them for the two feet to the car if he has to.

He has an afterthought as he backs out of the parking space and fumbles for his phone, thumbing in a number he’s never even put into his speed dial. It connects before he’s even crossed the lot.

“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”

No  _ way _ .

Eddie half laughs. “Hey, Maddie. I don’t think you’re going to believe this one…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry. This chapter was an absolute nightmare. More info afterwards. Also I'm still guessing at length so ...still not finished. Sorry? Maybe? Might be nine, might be ten.
> 
> Thank you as always to everyone who has been incredibly supportive of this fic, and to the amazing people who've left comments. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *Edit: I was still too not-happy with how part of this went, so I've actually altered one of the scenes just a little in a way I hope better shows some of Eddie's thoughts and motivation

All Eddie does is show up at Isabel Diaz’s home on Saturday evening when Carla is watching Christopher late, and she knows.

She surveys him quietly in the doorway, eyes shrewd, and Eddie watches the shape of her soften as her expression twists to understanding. She’s cloaked in a woven shawl and shadows spear into the hallway behind her, the sun sitting low on the horizon and dragging the sky into hues of violet.

“You realised,” she says, not a question. “It’s real now, hm?”

Eddie exhales and it hits the air quaking. His lungs feel a bit like they’re rattling loose in his ribcage. He doesn’t need to ask her to clarify. He nods. “Yeah. I realised.”

Isabel reaches out to him, her small hand cupping his jaw gently. “Come inside, Edmundo.”

.

He finds himself sitting at a familiar chair at a familiar old dining table, evening air playing in the doorway to the back yard as his Abuela resumes chopping vegetables for some kind of casserole dish. It’s getting darker, the kitchen streaked with failing pink sunrays, but she hasn’t turned a light on and Eddie doesn’t offer.

“You knew?” Eddie asks her, even though the answer is obvious, just because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Isabel scoffs over her carrots. “Everyone knew.”

Eddie’s eyes flash up to her. She keeps chopping like she hasn’t noticed.

He knew that the 118 knew - or thought they did - based on seeing him and Buck work together. But the Diaz family haven’t had that, and yet-

“I could tell the difference,” Isabel says, sagely. “You were so...frantic, when you moved out here. You were spread thin, between Christopher and your job and trying to move your life. I know the summer was hard on you, nieto , harder than the last year in many ways, and I was expecting to see that in you. But when Christopher was ready to spend time away from home and you brought him here again, you did not look like a man barely holding on. You look happpier; healthier. Like you are eating more, at least,” she adds, with what’s nearly an eye roll. “You let yourself accept some help.”

Eddie still finds it strange to think that he needed help. Looking back, he knows he had, that he still does, but he can’t shake the weight at the back of his mind that says Christopher and Buck had always needed it more. Maybe that’s how they made it this far; because it always felt like he was the one helping them.

“Then that game with the balls that Josephina took us to,” Isabel carries on unaware, wafting the knife around.

“Dodgeball, Abuela,” Eddie offers, trying not to smile too much at the exasperation in her tone.

She waves the knife some more. “You show up with Buck, are side by side for the whole day, you let him go with Christopher and didn’t spend every minute they were gone looking over your shoulder like you were waiting for him to need you. You never trusted Shannon like that.”

That-wait. No, he never did.

Isabel shrugs like she hasn’t just left Eddie’s brain shorting with that revelation. “After that it was hard not to see.”

Isabel scrapes the carrots off her board and into a bubbling pot, then pulls across cloves of garlic to start peeling and says, “Christopher talks about Buck a lot.”

Eddie’s heart twists. “They’ve spent a lot of time together. Helping each other. Chris loves him.” He swallows. For an instant he doesn’t want to say it; he’s too used to guarding everything about Buck, but this is his Abuela and she already knows so he lets a facsimile of the words break away from him, breathed out for the first time. “So do I.”

“Well. Talk, Eddie,” Isabel says. She shakes the garlic at him impatiently, but there’s a smile on her face and she looks pleased; fond. “I want to hear it; entertain your Abuela while she’s cooking.”

Eddie smiles half-heartedly, even as his pulse jumps in his wrists and his fingers twitch on the table. 

He doesn’t know where to start.

Is it ten minutes into his first ever shift with the 118 when he looked up through the glass doors of the locker room and saw Buck walking over to the others, unaware of him? He remembers how tall he was, the broad sweep of his shoulders and the thin rings of ink around his forearm. He remembers the playfully assured smile and the _ ángel beso marca de nacimiento _. Abuela called them that, and it was the Spanish in her voice that filtered through his mind when he first saw the mark above Buck’s eye.

Does he start there, or later? The moment in the ambulance, maybe, when Buck first placed his life in Eddie’s hands without a beat of hesitation. He’d proceeded to stumble over his words afterwards, flushed and smiling, and Eddie had vaguely thought _ this could be a problem _ without even pausing to consider why. Or is it the first time Eddie showed him Christopher’s picture after the earthquake and something about Buck had broken open, spilled gold and just never closed again?

He’s sure it starts before the day that Buck introduced him to Carla (He remembers the bright smile on Buck’s face, and the well-meaning weight of ‘Someone I want you to meet’. He remembers the way his heart had seized and he couldn’t think _ No _ hard or fast enough, before the woman coming through the door turned out to be nothing he was expecting). It definitely starts before then but…

“I don’t know where.”

“I am an old woman,” Isabel tells him as she crosses the kitchen to set another chopping board on the table. She hands Eddie a peeler and bowl of washed potatoes. “You can start where you like. I just want to hear the details.”

Eddie snorts and pulls the potato bowl closer. Isabel squeezes his shoulder; a gesture far gentler than her words, and heads back to the pot on the stove.

“He really didn’t like me when I first joined the firehouse,” Eddie begins. “For about two hours.”

It turns out that words come easily after that. He peels potatoes, the pot bubbles, Isabel navigates the kitchen, throwing in more vegetables, spices and stock, and the sun completely sets over the back yard before either of them move to turn on a light. Eddie talks through it all, a little about the job and where it all started, but he quickly pulls ahead to everything that happened after the wave.

Isabel listens to it all, with barely an interruption. Her blazingly affectionate but no-nonsense attitude has always been grounding, and it offers a safe space for him to pour it all out.

He’s a little shaken when he starts running out of things to say, his throat a little rough. He takes the bowl of peeled potatoes over to the pot feeling it like an aftereffect, but less of a frenetic, buzzing tremor, and more of a clouded, sleepy burn. It’s less like feeling bone and sinew shatter into atoms under his skin and more like the way his phone shudders on the bedside table at night, lit up as texts drop, one after the other onto the screen. It kind of feels like his brain realigning all over again.

Saying it all out loud makes it obvious just how much his and Buck’s lives have blended together in the past few months. It isn’t just the phone calls and the nightmares, the way Buck didn’t shave for two days and the way Eddie takes over doing dishes no matter who’s sink it is. It’s Buck’s kitchen having handrails for Christopher, and Eddie keeping Buck’s drawing of a firetruck on his fridge. It’s Buck knowing how to program their TV and what drawer Christopher keeps his dinosaur pyjamas in; and it’s Eddie knowing which switch in Buck’s fuse box trips the lights in the loft. It’s not just the trauma.

This thing between them - the three of them - is something they’ve made, and it’s everything.

Eddie hugs Isabel at the door and something inside of him settles.

He’s holding onto tupperware containers of hot food and murmurs a thank you into her shawl. She squeezes him back with a strength she doesn’t look like she should possess, and her expression is narrow when she holds him at arm’s length. It’s the kind of expression she used to wear when he was a child and she just knew he was likely to do something stupid.

“I’m okay,” he promises.

She hums at him and cups his cheeks between her hands. “You will be,” she says. “Hug Christopher for me. Say _ hola _ to Buck. And drive safely.”

Eddie smiles and promises her that, too.

.

Tuesday morning the fan belt in his truck blows out (The AC along with it, not to mention the radio and the lights, given there’s now no way of recharging the battery). It wasn’t even serviced that long ago - not long before the dodgeball tournament - and it feels a bit like some deity is having a laugh at his expense.

Bobby and Athena’s isn’t too far, though, so Eddie fires off a text, hauls his bag out of the lifeless SUV and goes back inside to Carla and Christopher to wait for a ride.

“You okay?” Bobby asks.

They’re in his car, pulling onto the freeway, Eddie in the passenger seat and his bag in the back amid a bunch of cooking utensils that could double as torture devices. Bobby swung by to get him and the sat nav on the dash tells them tactlessly that they’re now going to be at least ten minutes late for their shift.

Eddie’s gazing out of the window as the words register, and he realises that he’s drumming his fingers against the hard inner furnishing of the door. He makes himself stop, dropping his hand to his knee. That was bouncing too.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers. “I’m good.”

Bobby hums then falls quiet for a second as he pulls out to overtake a Nissan Micra. A colander rolls across the backseat.

“How’s Christopher?” he asks a minute later.

Eddie finds himself smiling. “Doing good. I think he and Carla are headed into town for a bit today.” In fact, he knows they are because Christopher has already been facetiming with Buck this morning over breakfast. They’ve arranged to meet up with him for lunch by the LAFD building before Buck goes to a doctor’s appointment. 

Eddie doesn’t say that part. If he needed any more proof of how tied up their lives are after Saturday night at Abuela’s, that might have been it.

Instead he says, “He went back to school on Friday easily enough, too.”

“He’s a strong kid. Tough day on him, though,” Bobby comments. “Sprinklers and a fire hydrant.”

Eddie tips his head back against the rest and snorts. “Buck told you. It was a mess.”

Bobby’s also fighting a smile, glancing in his mirrors before he pulls into the overtake lane again. “I only saw it on youtube. May said it was going viral.”

“I’m sure we could find another one if you want the real life experience, Cap,” Eddie teases. “Might want to bring your helmet; it had a hell of a blast radius.”

“Your car’s already broken and Chim’s went in the shop just yesterday” Bobby tells him. “We lose any more vehicles between us and I’ll have to drive the ladder truck home.”

“Athena would never let you park that outside.”

Bobby laughs in a way that says he knows that’s true, and they lapse into an easy quiet. Bobby never turns up the radio and the engine is a gentle hum so the rushing road noise is mostly punctuated by the jingling sound of all the kitchen equipment being jostled.

Then Eddie’s phone rings.

He blinks, tugging it out of his pocket, and catches his breath when he sees Carla’s name on the screen. He shoots Bobby a look but his eyes are fixed on the road.

“Carla?” Eddie says the moment he answers. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, we’re good,” she assures him. “Your son has a question for you.”

Eddie listens to the crackle of static as she passes the phone, and then Christopher’s voice spills into his ear.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Buddy. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Christopher says. “Can Carla and I go with Buck to the Doctor?”

It’s not what Eddie was expecting, which says something because he wasn’t sure what to expect at all. He swallows hard and tries to think. It’s a routine appointment; just the usual questions and checks, maybe a blood sample or a scan and then Buck will be out. It’s just one more step until he’s signed off the blood thinners, hopefully for good. Eddie knows he’s gone to a number of them alone, but they’ve all seen the inside of a hospital enough to know it’s usually better when someone is there with you.

“Only if he says you can,” Eddie says finally, because that choice has to stay with Buck.

There’s a huff of breath down the line and Eddie smiles. He can easily picture the attempt at an eye roll Christopher’s given him. “He said I had to ask you.”

Eddie’s heart drops a beat and he exhales into the phone. “Then you can go. But same as usual, okay - take your legos, stay out of the way.”

“I will.”

“You’re a good kid,” Eddie says quietly. “Can you put Carla back on?”

Christopher hums, offers a hasty ‘love you’ down the line and then there’s another crunch of sound waves before Carla is back.

Eddie asks, “Are you sure you’re okay taking him?”

Carla scoffs lightly, but her voice is lowered when she replies. “Of course I am. Besides; I don’t like Buck driving back if they’ve taken a blood sample. It’s never much but I’m just happier if someone’s with him. This way I can keep an eye on both of them.”

Eddie’s head drops against the backrest and he suddenly feels much happier about the day ahead on call. “Thanks, Carla. I know it’s not for me, but-”

“I got you, Boo,” she says, lighter again. “Now go be a badass.”

Eddie says his goodbyes and hangs up smiling. He’s almost forgotten he’s not alone until Bobby says, with a faint air of awkwardness, “Everything alright?”

But Eddie’s kept the volume up on his phone for months now. “It’s okay you heard it,” he says. “It’s not a secret.”

Bobby considers that for a second, eyes trained on his side mirror as he signals and pulls in ahead of a towtruck going too slowly. Finally, he takes the invitation. “Buck’s seeing the doctor today then?”

“Routine,” Eddie assures him. “At the last one the doctor seemed pretty sure he could book his retest.”

Bobby darts him a look. “Carla and Christopher are going with him?”

He knows that they are; he heard it. Eddie nods. “Buck wasn’t sure yesterday if they’d need to do a blood test or not, and he’s always smart about it but we all know it’s easier if someone’s there. Christopher hung out with Maddie waiting for him a couple months back and I think it makes him feel grown up and responsible, when he’s the one waiting. I know it gives Buck something to look forward to.”

“That’s good- but, wait- yesterday?”

Eddie replies without thinking. “We had dinner at Buck’s place. He told me what time the appointment was.”

The car feels suddenly like it’s submerged in water, pressed from the outside and strained from the inside around the presence of someone who isn’t even there. Bobby hasn’t looked at him, but Eddie can see words lodged in his throat that he won’t say without another invite.

“Go ahead and ask,” Eddie says, recklessness spreading hot between his shoulder blades like a pair of wings. 

“_ Is _ there something going on between you and Buck?”

He asks it fast, words tripping like he hadn’t actually planned on it, and Eddie isn’t exactly surprised but he still finds impulse tearing a response out of his mouth.

“Define going on.”

Bobby’s eyes flash off the road to stare at him for a beat before he forcibly looks straight again. Eddie tries to hide his smile against the door.

Honestly - a lot is going on. Has been for a long while. 

In the days since the grocery store, since Buck stood too close, went still under the sound of his own name and fell pliant between Eddie’s hands, he’s had a lot of things to look at differently.

Buck has always touched him so easily and carelessly, and it’s not exactly been one-sided. Knocking shoulders, grabbing the other’s arm or waist to stabilise, fist bumps and lowering their heads together to pass quick-fire messages on a scene are all part of their normal. Eddie has pretty much never had a personal bubble around Buck.

Then there’s everything else.

(It’s watching Buck strip off his damp t-shirt with his back turned and the pang of awareness it sent down Eddie’s spine. It’s Buck offering his bed so no one was left alone with their nightmares. It’s Eddie hearing the words ‘Nice family’ in the middle of the LAFD headquarters and knowing what he was doing when he didn’t deny it. It’s Buck’s voice in the middle of the night, raw and igniting as he teased at something better .

It’s opening the door to Buck’s apartment, seeing him in the kitchen with Christopher and feeling like Eddie came home instead.)

They keep letting things happen, or making them happen, and it’s easy and comfortable, and Eddie thinks it’s helping but it’s also like living in an inbetween. It’s pressing on a bruise in increments and each time Eddie feels the ache of it stronger, like soon he’ll find fingerprints on his bones.

Nothing has actually come of it, though, and he knows how Bobby meant the question.

“Breathe,” he says. “Nothing is going on. Not like that.”

Bobby hesitates. The flutter of it is like a held breath in the car. Then he pushes through it, a pocket of air bursting. “But...you want there to be.” Another beat, and then a hasty, apologetic, “Sorry. I’m sorry. That wasn’t- I shouldn’t have-”

“Yes,” Eddie says clearly, his heart tight. “I want there to be.”

Bobby smiles then, a quiet, warm thing as he switches lanes again, cruising past a violent orange Dodge Charger. “I’m happy for you.”

Eddie tips his head back, “Don’t get too excited.”

“Why’s that?” A pause and then- “If you think it’s about any of the bets-”

“I don’t,” Eddie interrupts, then smirks. “Doesn’t matter anyway; no one’s going to win.”

He sees Bobby raise both eyebrows at him on the edge of his vision and thinks of how different this is to the boxed in feeling from the truck last week; the weight of the eyes and Lena’s particular shock. He’s finding the words aren’t heavy any more; that this isn’t something he wants to guard.

“I want there to be something, now, but I didn’t always. Everyone in the truck that day, saying it like that - like it’s been months? That’s not true. It wasn’t like that - or I didn’t realise. So if that’s what they were betting on…”

He lets his voice tail off, shaking his head. Vaguely he wonders how much Hen stands to lose.

“I knew it was recent for you,” Bobby replies. “You were calmer than I thought you’d be that day, but then, you’ve been keeping a lot of stuff about Buck quiet since he was put on light duty. It started making sense that you wouldn’t say anything to them- us - about this, either.”

Eddie offers a half shrug in a form of confirmation. The essence of it is right.

Bobby nods slowly and cuts down into a slip lane on an intersection. They leave the freeway for a new multi-lane highway and merge into the new flow of traffic, all without a word.

“So they were wrong about when,” Bobby finally broaches when they’re back on cruise control and making use of the carpool lane. “But why not be happy about it? The three of you are great - look what you have.”

Eddie smiles despite himself. “That’s kind of why,” he says.

Bobby frowns, but he doesn’t speak for a long moment. The moment stretches and spaces out into road noise, and that’s when Eddie realises that Bobby isn’t going to push. He doesn’t understand but he won’t ask for an explanation either. It’s that, more than anything else, that suddenly makes Eddie want to tell him.

“Right after the Tsunami, Christopher woke up screaming,” Eddie says. The car dips for an instant as Bobby’s wince catches the wheel. Eddie pretends he didn’t notice. “He was asking for Buck and nothing else would calm him down. So I called in the middle of the night, and he answered. He talked to Chris until he was calm enough to sleep, and it wasn’t the only time.”

Bobby’s gone still in his seat, his eyes wide and startled. Eddie just hopes he’s still paying attention to traffic.

They’ve never talked about the phone calls and Eddie doesn’t wholly plan on starting now.

“That’s all I’m saying,” he says. “Only because I want you to really understand when I tell you it hasn’t just been me and Christopher dealing with everything. You’re meant to have a separate life to your best friend, that’s how it works, but Buck and I haven’t had that for a long time. He’s been there, even while he works stuff out, too. It’s been the three of us. 

“We’ve always been close, but it’s been different since the tsunami.” Eddie shrugs. “I wanted to be there for both of them so it made sense that we were together more. I just didn’t notice how much that was until last week, in the firetruck.”

“When you actually realised you had feelings for him?”

Eddie’s chest breaks open and all the air rushes out of his lungs. There’s freedom in this; it’s not a laughing pry at his life that assumes too much, but a gentle question that offers him agency.

“Yes.”

Bobby smiles again, but it’s coloured by an ache.

Eddie says, “He’s my best friend, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want Christopher to lose it. It’s not just the help with nightmares. Buck helps Chris with his homework, he drew him a firetruck that lives on my fridge, he uses our waffle iron more than I do. I know the AC system in his apartment better than he does, Christopher and I stocked up his freezer for him last week and I’m on first name terms with his landlord. There’s a lot to risk.”

“Risk?” Bobby repeats, edged with disbelief. “What r- Eddie, Buck’s an idiot but he’s not stupid, and he loves that kid. And you. You don’t think he’d, what? Leave? If he knew-”

“No.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to think about it.

He knows Buck loves him; there’s no shortage of that in the 118 in a familial sense. Eddie just doesn’t know if he has feelings for him, too.

Buck likes to flirt, he’s playful, impulsive and really kind of beautiful in a way that makes those things easy. There have been moments - things said in the dark, texts that offer insinuation and looks that linger - but Eddie can’t always be sure when he’s serious or joking. He doesn’t know if he can trust himself to guess without bias; without seeing what he wants to see. He does know, absolutely and without question that Buck won’t take it _ badly _.

He also knows from everything that happened with Shannon that there are sometimes worse ways to lose someone than having them actually leave. He doesn’t like to think about the time last winter when he felt like they were trying to rebuild only to find out afterwards she was doubting every step they made.

“That’s the point,” Eddie says slowly, “When it comes to it, Buck puts the people he loves first, and Chris and I are some kind of stability for him right now - insane, I know - and it’s not fair to put pressure on that, not when it might be what’s holding him together.”

Bobby’s hands sit very still on the wheel for a moment, his expression sort of grave; warring between caution and...a sort of disappointment. There’s a question in the furrowed lines of his brow.

“When you say pressure...”

“I mean Buck might try to feel something back if he thought it was what I wanted, especially if he thought for a second it was an all or nothing deal; that the other option was losing us.”

Eddie says it fast, like tearing off a band-aid, biting the words out. It still feels like trying to throw up razor blades. They cut into his throat, each one it’s own laceration. It sounds more brutal in the air than it ever did in his mind. He hates that the thought even took shape but he knows it’s true.

“I can’t ever let him think that.” Eddie's nerves snap and his throat stings. “Me wanting more is mine, it’s not on Buck. I can deal with having feelings for him and not doing anything about it - I already have been. That’s okay. I don’t think I can deal with this - whatever it is - falling apart if it’s because I wanted more than he had to give.”

It’s a shared life, even if it’s not in the traditional sense. The same way they’ve been a family for months, only not in the way most people might define it. They carved it themselves, out of broken bones and waterlogged fears; built it from a ruined pier and the space between sleep even though the foundation was laid long ago with a blown up ambulance.

“You rebuilt yourselves around each other,” Bobby says, wistfully. “Not just the bad, but the good, too. That’s the foundation you’re worried about. I just don’t know why. Has he given you some reason to doubt it?”

“He has PTSD.” Eddie only deliberates over saying it for a moment, but there’s no way at all that Bobby doesn’t know so it’s not like he’s giving it up.

The car passes under a signboard suspended across the highway, and Bobby signals them across to the inside lane. The next exit is theirs.

“I was an army medic, Bobby. And I’m trained to deal with every kind of crisis imaginable. Buck’s never given me any reason to doubt him. I trust him. Completely. I just won’t add to what he’s coping with right now.”

Bobby finally pulls them off the highway and they coast to a stop at an intersection, waiting for the lights to change. They’ve lost time; the sat nav now telling them flatly that they’ve over fifteen minutes late. Eddie hadn’t thought to clock their speed and wonders if Bobby had been holding off the gas just a little to give the conversation more room.

“So…” Bobby starts again as they get a green and he spins the wheel to the right, “You’re just going to keep going, pretend it’s not there?”

He thinks of the way he doesn’t just catch himself looking anymore, but the way he catches himself thinking about things, pushing down impulses that flicker under his skin like muscle spasm. He thinks of the days since the grocery store when he hasn’t bothered to catch himself as much; the mix of thrill and caution that floods his bloodstream with each carefully tested boundary. So far, Buck’s always pushed back. He doesn’t know how to bury that and doesn’t want to give it up, either. He has no idea how to pretend it doesn’t exist.

“I don’t know how to pretend,” he says simply. “I don’t remember what it was like before it and even if he doesn’t want- I still wouldn’t want to wish it away. I’m not hiding it.

“He’s worth loving and that doesn’t depend on him wanting me back.”

Bobby pulls them into the parking strip outside the firehouse and hauls up the handbrake. Eddie unbuckles his belt and shakes himself, hooking his finger around the catch to pop the door open. He rubs at his face as he stumbles out of the car onto the asphalt, and the residual stiffness from the journey spills out at his feet. He smiles, and it comes easy.

Bobby leans into the back seat for his bag at the same time Eddie reaches in on his side. Pride is etched into his face, but his eyes are shuttered with an aching kind of pain.

“You know that Buck could think the same, right?” Bobby murmurs, almost apologetic for bringing it up. “If he wants more too, but needs you to say something first because he thinks he’s also risking what you have. And it’s more for him; you as well as Christopher.”

The thing is, Eddie’s thought about it. It haunts him, just a little.

He grabs his bag, setting aside some kind of whisk in the process. “It’s not forever. Right now, while he finishes the thinners, the requalifying and getting cleared with the Chief… I just think it needs to be his choice, whatever he wants. Maybe I’ll work out how to say something when things are more normal.

“I never minded being the one to move first,” Eddie smirks. “Just not while he’s not okay. For now we’re getting there. This is- we’re....happy. We’re learning what that’s like again.”

It’s weird to say, but it also feels right.

“I’m not going anywhere, and we’ve never been great at boundaries. Just whatever happens, it should be his choice.”

.

“Sorry,” Bobby calls out as he proceeds Eddie through the firehouse and up the stairs. “Didn’t mean to be so late.”

Faces look around at them as they hurry across the loft, still with their bags. Hen’s eyebrows rise and Chimney looks up from the sorry attempt at a pancake he’s making.

“Everything all right, Cap?” Hen asks.

Bobby waves her off with an easy smile. “Yeah, we’re fine. Eddie’s truck had the fan belt break and it wouldn’t start so I ran by to give him a lift.”

Hen winces. Chimney snorts loudly as he flips the pancake right out of the pan and onto the stove where it catches light. Lena upends a pitcher of water over it. Chimney starts to pick bits of soggy pancake batter off of the stove rings, grimacing.

Hen rolls her eyes. “Well you haven’t missed much, but someone stop Chim before we get a call for our own fire.”

Chimney shoots her a filthy look.

Eddie drops his bag and picks up an apple from the fruit bowl instead. He plucks a knife from the block and cuts into the core while Bobby snatches the pancake mix and pan, his bag abandoned on a free stool. He shoos Chimney from the vicinity of the cooker.

Chimney appears in front of Eddie, sheepishly tipping the ruined pancake into the trash can before he looks up with a smirk.

“Fan belt, huh? Didn’t the shop just fix one of those before the dodgeball tournament? Think maybe it’s time for a new truck?”

Eddie snorts in laughter and whacks him lightly on the arm. Chimney rocks away, hands in the air, and heads off, sniggering.

Eddie calls out to his retreating back, “If you know where I can get the cash for a new truck, you let me know.”

.

It’s Thursday, and Eddie’s not working, so he’s there at the school gates to pick up Christopher before they head down to Abuela’s for dinner.

The whole evening is pretty planned out and Christopher has been looking forward to it since the weekend. It’s been weeks since he started back at school, Halloween is fast approaching and Eddie’s is still learning to fill his days off so he doesn’t feel the empty house so keenly.

It helps, knowing Bobby is always around, even if he’s not really sure how to talk about something he can’t really understand. Feeling untethered just because he’s so used to having people to look out for doesn’t seem like something worth taking Bobby’s time. Still, sometimes it’s just a relief to go and sit in Athena’s kitchen and chat aimlessly, but after their shared car journey there’s a comfort in knowing Bobby will try to understand where his head is at. Buck helps more, when he’s not pulling shifts at the LAFD headquarters. Eddie can’t wait for them to be back on the same team if for nothing else than he’s kind of tired of the times they have different days off.

Besides, when Buck’s around, Eddie doesn’t overthink anything. Existing with him is easy.

Then there’s Isabel Diaz, who insisted on seeing Christopher more often as soon as he was ready for it and hasn’t let up since. Josephina has already had to remind her about her previously broken hip in a plea for her to slow down. At least Thursday night dinner can’t be too taxing on any of them.

The kids all let out, and Christopher comes trampling along with them, swinging his crutches, backpack over his shoulders and laughing with his friends, who hold open the doors for him. He waves goodbyes cheerfully and then diverts to the gate.

Eddie helps him up into the car, setting his bag on the back seat, and he’s just about to round the hood and get in when a darting motion in his peripheral vision catches his attention.

A young woman dashes out of the school, head high, looking wildly around at the families all slowly drifting away from the gates.

Maybe it’s the training or maybe it’s just him, but he can’t walk away. He lifts his own head up and nods to her, calling out, “You okay?”

Her eyes swing to him, but oddly enough, the rushed look in them settles and she jogs through the gates and across the road. She aims straight for their car.

“Mr. Diaz, hi. I’m Annabel, I’m one of Christopher’s teaching aides. I just- he drew this, today. I thought...well…I thought he’d want it.”

She’s sweet, Eddie thinks; something entirely guileless about the thoughtfulness as she holds out a folded up piece of paper. Eddie can’t bring himself to tell her that they probably have several drawings just like it already at home.

“Probably,” he says instead, taking it. “I’m sure he’ll want it to join all the other firetrucks.”

Annabel blinks. “Oh, um. It’s not a firetruck.”

Eddie’s heart drops.

It’s been ages now, since Christopher last dried up a blue felt tip pen with colouring so much water. There’s a sharp stab of pain, somewhere near the pit of his stomach at the thought that they’re going backwards, that he’s drawing the wave again.

Annabel’s confused frown suddenly blows apart, her features pulling into a shocked, apologetic kind of horror.

“Oh!” she gasps. “No- not. I’m so sorry. Um. He’s not...he hasn’t drawn the Tsunami since he started back here for the new semester. I know you told his teachers it was a possibility, but it hasn’t happened. No, um-” and here, very strangely, she blushes. “Um, he drew, well- I thought he’d want to keep it. Sorry. Have a good evening, Mr. Diaz.”

She smiles, still apologetic, and turns to hurry back to the school gates.

Eddie frowns down at the paper in his hands and, with his heart suddenly somewhere in his throat, he unfolds it between his fingers.

There’s a house on the right. It’s a single floor with a pitched roof and a blocky porch, the door peeking from behind an archway coloured in yellow and a dinosaur on the windowsill. On the left is another building, and the scale is off because it’s nearly the same size as the house, but this one has seven floors of tall windows and there’s a spiky, lopsided grid hugging the outside wall. Standing between the two houses are three stick figures. The smaller one in the middle has a pair of crutches and - Eddie swallows hard, a knot in his throat that feels like it might choke him - the figure closer to the taller building has a familiar smudge of pink pen over the dot of it’s left eye.

Blinking, his heart thumping against his ribs with bruising force, Eddie forces his feet to move. He pulls himself into the front seat behind the wheel then twists, reaching back towards Christopher.

“Hey, Buddy,” he says gently. “Your teacher, Annabel gave me this. You-you want to keep it?”

Christopher looks at it, then reaches out carefully to take it, holding it flat on his lap. “Yes,” he says softly. “Can…can it go on the fridge, too?”

Eddie’s heart aches. He nods, tells himself it’s okay, that he’s not messing up. He doesn’t even know exactly what the picture means, so there’s no reason he should start worrying that Christopher doesn’t feel like he has a complete, stable home.

“You want to tell me what you drew?” Eddie asks. He puts as much enthusiasm in as he can. Christopher is way too perceptive, and it’s likely he’ll clam up instead if he thinks there’s any way he could have upset Eddie.

Christopher nods, though, holding out the picture again and pointing with one hand. “Our house here, and that’s you, and me, and Buck, and that’s his house there.”

Buck’s apartment building, then; with the old fire escape still welded to the factory brick and ironwork.

“That’s so good, Kid,” Eddie tells him, meaning it even as he’s rocked by a surge of dizziness. “Felt like houses more than firetrucks today, then?”

Christopher smiles serenely, shaking his head. “No, we were drawing what our lives were like. The firetruck doesn’t come home.” Eddie wonders whether now is the point to question that a firetruck doesn’t make the cut but somehow Buck’s apartment does. Before he can, Christopher continues. “I was going to put the truck in the back but James said it didn’t count. Rory drew two houses because his parents have another one in Hawaii. Sophie had a cat in hers. I wanted to put a cat in mine but we don’t have one.”

Eddie’s pretty sure the cat part is something to tackle later.

A lot later.

The rest of it at least seems to make sense, though in the back of Eddie’s head he wonders what this picture looked like to everyone else. Like Rory’s, perhaps; parents with two homes, or maybe like divorced ones. Somehow he doubts the truth would ever occur to the other kids, or maybe even the teachers.

But then-

“What about Carla?” Eddie asks. “You spend a lot of time with Carla, too, doesn’t she get to be there?”

Christopher giggles, shaking his head again. He says, like it’s just that simple, “I couldn’t draw Carla. She has her own family; we just borrow her.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to ask the next bit, and he’s kind of glad; he’s not sure how to bring up Buck’s name out loud right now. His heart is lodged in his throat, his ribs closing in on his lungs and Christopher says, “But Buck lives on his own so I thought it’d be okay if I drew him. He’s our family anyway. And we’re his.”

Eddie sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly between his teeth when his lungs refuse to expand. He feels it burn as he bites back the wild urge to cry.

Here he is, worried Christopher doesn’t feel secure in his home life and meanwhile, Christopher is adopting Eddie’s best friend. Even more; there doesn’t seem to be any preconceived ideas about it; for Chris it seems just that simple; that Buck belongs with them, and that doesn’t have to mean anything more or less than it already does, than it has for months.

“You’re okay when it’s just the two of us, though, right?” Eddie checks. “That’s still alright?”

Because Buck may not be going anywhere, and they may never have to learn the shape of the world without him, but it’s just been Eddie and Chris for so long, and this picture, what it means to Christopher, feels like a step towards something else.

(Something else that Eddie wants in a way that burns but that he won’t ask for, not right now, and something that he can’t offer Christopher, not yet).

Christopher nods. “Yeah, I like just the two of us. But Abuela says family is a lot of things and it doesn’t have to be all the time, does it? Buck’s still family even if it’s just you and me sometimes?”

His kid is really far too smart, far too astute, and far too in league with Isabel Diaz.

Which reminds him where they’re headed, now that he’s not close to hyperventilating over a stick figure drawing of his best friend.

“Yeah kid; family is a lot of things,” Eddie agrees softly. He shakes himself and glances back again. “You ready to go to Abuela’s?”

Christopher nods brightly. “Yes. I want to show her my drawing - Can I?”

“Of course you can, Superman,” Eddie says, turning back to the front and starting up the engine. There’s a kink in his hip from being twisted between the seats for so long and he tries to tweak it out.

“Can I show Buck, too?”

Eddie smiles, reversing out of the parking slot. “Buck would love to see that.”

It’s at that point that it occurs to him that they’re not actually seeing Buck tonight. Probably not for two more days, actually. Carla is around tomorrow, and Buck has a shift at the LAFD to contend with the morning after. Eddie does happen to know he has no plans this evening after getting a handful of incredulous texts detailing Maddie ditching him for a date with Chimney.

“How about I see if he can join dinner tonight?”

It’s impulsive, but it’s out there now, and Christopher cheers in the back seat so Eddie can’t really take back the suggestion even if he wanted to.

Eddie quickly pulls up Abuela’s contact on his phone and lets the car idle in the corner of the parking lot. At least the fan belt is back in working order and there’s no ominous squeal coming from the engine.

The call connects inside of three rings.

“Eddie?_ ¿Está todo bien? _” Isabel asks. “Did you hit traffic?”

“Not yet, no,” Eddie answers. “It’s about Buck…”

Isabel makes a tiny little hitched sound, and her voice seems much closer to the speaker when she replies. “Is he okay? Can he not come?”

“He’s fi-” Eddie’s brain stalls. “Wait. What?”

“Buck,” Isabel says, frankly, expectantly, like Eddie’s the one missing something here. “_ Hablar _, Eddie.”

“_ Lo siento, _” Eddie says on autopilot. “Just- You thought Buck was coming?”

There’s a telling pause, and then Isabel scoffs down the line. “And what were you calling me for?”

“I-” ...Fuck. Maybe she has a point. “To ask if he could?”

“Mm-hm,” Isabel hums. Eddie can hear the eyeroll. The back of his neck feels warm, flushed. “I know you, Edmundo. Go, fetch your boy.”

He flushes. He can’t acknowledge it, but also can’t quite bring himself to deny it. Christopher’s most recent drawing clamours at the edge of Eddie’s mind, pulsing and overbright like a homing beacon. He has to bite on his lip to contain a smile.

“See you soon, Abuela,” Eddie says after a moment, and Isabel makes a suppressed sound of amusement as she says goodbye and hangs up.

Eddie rolls his eyes at himself this time as he pulls up Buck’s contact and passes the phone back between the seats.

“Hey, Christopher. Facetime Buck, okay? Ask if he wants to come.”

.

Buck doesn’t hesitate to say yes.

They pick him up and then double back a little, hit the freeway and drop off of it a little later before weaving through the outskirts to Isabel’s home, tucked into the trees on a quiet cul de sac. Josephina herds them inside, fussing and doling out hugs, and Eddie is waved towards the kitchen while Buck finds himself surrounded by all the nieces and Eddie’s one nephew. He couldn’t look happier about it, a glowing smile on his face as he folds down to chatter with them, so Eddie lets Aunt Josephina steer him away.

They’re all boxed in around the dining table for dinner and the AC is on but there’s still a low humidity clinging to the edges of the room and somehow it feels nostalgic. Eddie’s reminded of dinners in this house a year ago; one of the only things that helped to ground him after uprooting his life and moving to LA.

Buck is the only difference, and yet it doesn’t feel like a difference at all.

He’s crushed between Christopher and Josephina, across from Eddie’s youngest niece. She and Buck have been making faces at each other since they sat down. Each time Eddie sees it there’s a jolting pulse in his veins that reverberates like acoustic through his heartstrings. Josephina enjoys throwing out Spanish because of the way it makes Buck’s eyes narrow and a smile catch his mouth. Admittedly Eddie does that a bit, too. Abuela plies him with extra servings.

Slowly the food disappears and the chatter rises and Eddie doesn’t even look at the clock until it’s ticked drowsily past nine in the evening.

“Hey, I want to say thank you,” Buck says to Isabel at the end of the meal.

He helps her collect the dishes up, the kids all scattering like shrapnel blast as soon as they’re allowed off their seats.

Eddie pauses in the doorway. It’s getting dark again, but it’s still warm and his t-shirt feels too heavy across the back of his shoulders. He’s turned up the air and is just waiting for it to kick in even though he knows they should probably find Christopher and head home soon.

“It’s been...really wonderful,” Buck continues softly. “To see your home, and your family, and your cooking was amazing.”

“You are a flatterer,” Isabel tells him, but she looks pleased.

Buck looks a little bashful, shrugging awkwardly. “I mean it, though. Thank you. It- The people we work with are my family, and they’re great, but this was so different. It means a lot you let me be part of it.”

His Abuela looked pleased before, but now she looks molten. Eddie would roll his eyes but, ridiculously, he gets it. There’s not a lot of things in the world more totally disarming than Buck when he’s being earnest and genuine about something.

“I am glad you came, and that you enjoyed it. But there’s no need to thank me,” Isabel tells him, smiling fondly. She pats his arm as she takes the plates. “You are always welcome. You keep my grandson in line.”

“I-” Buck cuts off with a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck to regroup. “Well, I try. It’s not easy.”

“Hey!” Eddie interjects, pushing himself off the doorframe and trying to bite down a smile.

Isabel rolls her eyes and heads for the kitchen, expertly balancing a stack of plates that seems to defy physics.

Buck glances warily after her, like he thinks for an instant something might fall. When it’s clear it won’t, he turns to Eddie with a smirk.

“Well, I mean - it’s true.”

He shrugs, and Eddie’s eyes catch on the shift of his shoulders, the pull of his t-shirt.

There’s a new angular bruise on the ridge of Buck’s collarbone right before it dips into the hollow of his throat. It’s not large, but already bold and brutal in his skin, slashes and blooms of violet and carmine.

It’s the place where Christopher tucked his head exactly a week ago when the fire hydrant exploded. The bruise was left by the hinged corner of his glasses; barely any pressure, the shape perfectly preserved in the damaged tissue.

No one has asked him about it all night, not even the youngest of the children.

“ _I’m_ difficult to keep in line?” Eddie shoots at him. “See if I ever bring you back.”

He starts to tuck in chairs that belong at the table, and drag away ones that have been purloined from elsewhere to fit them all.

Buck gives him a sly, pleased look as he starts to help. “I have a standing invitation.”

“_ Las invitaciones se pueden eliminar _, ” Eddie replies.

Buck’s shoulders drop and his eyes flicker; fever-bright and then soft. His expression flattens and his hands tighten around the back of the chair he’s holding, forearms locked; tendons and wiry, corded muscle standing in relief under his skin. “That’s not fair.”

Eddie scoops up the basket of condiments left in the centre of the table. He’s tempted to respond in Spanish again, but he kind of wants Buck to understand it, so he shrugs, smiles and says, “I don’t fight fair.” 

Then he heads for the kitchen where Isabel and Josephina are muttering between themselves over the dishwasher.

Fifteen minutes later Eddie is surrounded by his nieces and nephew in the narrow hallway just as they’re getting ready to say their goodbyes.

“Are you _ really _ not going to bring Buck back again, Uncle Eddie?”

“Really?”

“Never?”

Eddie gapes, his heart stumbling like it’s not sure if this is something it needs to respond to. Four pairs of eyes gaze up at him, imploring and soulful. One of them is artfully near tears.

Buck leans over - close, too close - and he winks down at the kids before muttering just loud enough for Eddie, “I don’t fight fair, either.”

There’s no way Josephina heard him from her post by the living room doorway, behind the crowd of children, but she gives them a deep-seated look of exasperation and waves them at the door.

“_ llevarlo a casa antes de que se enamoren de él también _.”

Eddie bites his tongue hard and steers them outside. He’s not sure if this was the best or worst idea he’s ever had but either way, he doesn’t regret it and he’s not sure what that says about him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. fun facts.  
\- Essentially none of this chapter was in the first handwritten draft. It all insisted on being included during the type up phase and basically knocked everything back.  
\- The scene between Eddie and Bobby specifically has been giving me so much grief since the weekend. I have 14 pages of outtakes that just did not work or flow right and ended up scrapping the original scene for this. The conversation is effectively the same though, so you're not missing much, just a lot of way too many words.  
\- Its 5am. I work at 9. I have a cold. But I'm so glad this one is finally done. Home stretch now.
> 
> I've also been screaming about buddie non stop on twitter lately, so you can find me there, too if you want - @tattypandas :)
> 
> And as usual, I'm saving most of my overall notes for the actual end.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha so. This is actually half a chapter because it was too damn long. So we're bumping up our estimated overall count again. I'm sorry that I have literally no idea what I'm doing with that. The story is all mapped out but I can't break chapters in my head very well.
> 
> It was meant to be a oneshot.
> 
> As always thank you to everyone following and enjoying - you guys have been amazing and I hope you enjoy this one even if it's not exactly in keeping with all the mistletoe fics about now :)
> 
> A heads up this chapter for descriptions of different canon-esque accidents/injuries and whatnot because there's some scenes during work hours.

“We got a ten thirty-seven, code three, down near Ladera Heights,” Bobby calls over the scream of the alarm. “The two twenty-seven have been called to a domestic across town so we pulled it. Load up. Hen, Chim - bring the bus.”

Everyone is already on the move, making beelines for the ladder truck under the blaring siren. Hen and Chimney quickly divert across the red wash of the firehouse to the ambulance, hauling themselves up into the cab.

The front doors roll back with a metallic groan, letting the mid-morning light flood in. The firetruck seems to exhale; hydraulics hissing as the brakes come up. Eddie lifts himself in, sliding across the bench to a free seatbelt and secures it just as the truck pulls forward. He jams on his headset and stretches past Lena to catch Bobby’s attention.

“Civilian assist; do we know anything about the injury?”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, and - he sounds almost baffled. “A tree fell on them.”

It’s not a slender little back yard Aspen, either. It’s a fully grown California Incense Cedar.

They pull up at the roadside to the sight: a tree that was probably in excess of thirty metres high and now at least thirty metres long, sprawled across a communal park strip amid battered and broken branches. The top crushed a wooden fence on the way down and reaches across the driveway of the nearest house. The trunk has been sheared, leaving a messy hack-job of a stump rooted firmly in the centre of the park.

Three men in fluorescent vests and hard hats flutter around looking annoyed and guilty at the same time. One of them hasn’t stopped ranting into his cell phone and another spots the firetruck pull up before hastily trying to hide two enormous chainsaws behind the corpse of the tree.

“I hope you folks had permission to be cutting this down,” Bobby says pointedly to them, continuing past without slowing.

“We did!” One of them calls indignantly after him.

“Good!” Bobby shouts back. “Stick around and tell that to the cops when they get here. They’ll need a statement. Okay, what have we got?”

Eddie jogs a little to catch up.

A young woman backs up out of the way as they approach.

“Help, she’s stuck! We were just walking and it came at us.”

Hen gently shifts her away some more, stopping to check she’s not hurt and it gives Chimney and Eddie room to get in close to the main bough of the tree.

There’s another girl pinned under the Cedar. Blood saturates the grass underneath her, and she’s pale, but it’s clearly not life-threatening. She’s sitting up and is more annoyed than terrified, waving her hands and ranting even as Chimney tries to attach a blood pressure cuff to her arm. He bats his way through sprigs of leaves, spitting them out.

“Miss- Miss-M- I need you to calm down, okay? Please?”

“Calm down?” She demands, voice cracking on a high note. She looks over Chimney’s head to yell at the guys in the vests, “They dropped a  _ tree _ on me!”

One of the men shrugs helplessly at her. The one on the phone turns away and throws his hard hat across the grass so viciously it bounces twice.

Chimney gets the pressure cuff on her, leaning back to stay out of the way of her flailing. “Yes, okay, and that was very bad of them but we’re more concerned about you. Can you tell me your name?”

Eddie tries to bite down a smirk and flattens himself to the ground, shimmying a little to get under some branches and see what the damage is.

Well. Shit.

The girl’s voice is muffled by leaves and crumbling bark, but Eddie hears her reply, “Alice. They crushed my legs not my brai-”

“Blood pressure’s good, Cap,” Chimney interrupts cheerfully. “Must have missed the arteries-”

“Yeah, and she’s damn lucky,” Eddie adds. He pulls himself out from under the foliage. “There’s a branch through your leg. We’ll have to cut it off here and transport you.”

Alice’s eyes fly wide, round with horror. “You’ll have to cut off my  _ leg? _ Here? Are you kidding me?”

“Wh-No,” Eddie barely manages not to laugh. “The branch. We’ll cut the branch.”

“Oh,” she says. She sinks down a little in relief and goes a degree paler. “Great, do that. And now that we’re not worried about me any more can someone please go and check on my cats?”

Eddie’s brain stalls like a car; an engine just dying on the spot. He shoots a look at Chimney who blinks owlishly back at him, holding Alice’s slumped weight. When that turns up nothing, Eddie glances at Bobby.

“I’m sorry, your what?” Bobby asks.

“My cats!” She points towards the top of the tree, and they’re all tucked so close in to the trunk that there’s no way of telling exactly where she’s indicating. “We-my girlfriend and I- were carrying them to the car in a box. I found them. They got knocked away from me when the tree came down. Can you please just- just check on them?”

Her eyes flutter, and then droop.

Chimney startles into action. “Shock’s wearing off. Hen, fetch the board. We have to get her moved. Alice- you have to stay awake, okay? Tell us about the cats.”

Hen dashes off. Over by the curb, what feels like a world away, a familiar police cruiser pulls up beside the ambulance. Athena steps out of it, pocketing her sunglasses with a severely unimpressed expression.

“I’ll get the saw,” Bobby offers. “And I’ll point Athena at dumb, dumber and dumbo over there. Eddie…” he throws a wild look up the length of the tree and says, like he can’t believe he is, “See if you can find her cats?”

Not far from where the fence panel lies in matchsticks, Eddie finds it.

There’s a cardboard box wedged under the beam of the tree. It’s a little bashed in, the top held closed under the weight, but the branches are finer up here so it still looks intact. Eddie pulls out his phone to take a handful of pictures of the site, just in case they’re needed for any reports. Then he starts to prod at the box and the branches experimentally.

There’s some give, and he’s strong enough to rock his shoulder against the main bough and haul the box loose with his bare hands.

Meowing starts up from inside.

“No way,” he mutters to himself, opening the flaps to check on them all.

There’s a litter of five kittens inside. They look a bit shaken; pawing over each other with trembling little steps, and their eyes are too large in their small faces, but all of them are moving and breathing. They should be fine until a vet can check them over.

“Eddie, come in,” Chimney’s voice crackles through his radio.

Eddie gently pushes one of the cat’s heads back down so he can stop him clambering free and then presses the receiver. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Did you find the cats?”

He can almost hear an eye roll in it.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m coming to you. She should be able to get them back after they’re checked. Just tell me there’s only meant to be five.”

.

Eddie can’t resist texting Buck when the whole situation is finally dealt with. He usually doesn’t; so aware that Buck misses it, but he thinks that the kick he’ll get out of this one might win out.

12:09pm   
Completely crazy call this morning.

He leaves it at that; not too much, enough that Buck can ignore it if he wants, but twenty minutes later - perhaps coinciding with Buck’s lunch hour - Eddie feels his phone buzz in his pocket as they approach the intersection just minutes away from the firehouse.

Buck 12:31pm   
Cat stuck up a tree?

Eddie actually gapes at it for a second. Then the truck lurches as the lights change and his brain is jolted back online. Buck’s given him an opening far better than he could have hoped for.

12:32pm   
More like the other way around.

Buck 12:32pm   
????????

Eddie snorts. Hen raises her eyebrows so he turns the phone to show her. Lena and Chimney cluster in to see and all of them make pressed sounds of laughter. The phone buzzes in his hand again and Eddie pulls it back as more follow.

Buck 12:33pm   
????????????????

Buck 12:33pm   
Seriously. A tree got stuck up a cat?

Buck 12:33pm   
Impaled a cat?

Buck 12:33pm   
Is it okay?

Eddie starts typing even though there’s three flickering dots at the bottom of the screen that tell him Buck is still going.

12:34pm   
Five cats. None impaled

Buck 12:34pm   
You’re serious

Buck 12:34pm   
😱

Buck 12:34pm   
What the hell happened?

Eddie sends him a few of the photos he took for the report just as they turn off the road and into the firehouse lot. The doors are rolling back in preparation as they coast slowly into the shadow of the building.

12:35pm   
Image452.jpg   
Image453.jpg   
Image456.jpg   
A tree fell on a box of cats

The three dots stop. They don’t return in the time it takes for the vehicles to park up on the main floor, the engines to cut out and all the comms to switch off. Then two texts appear with barely any warning.

Buck 12:36pm   
Holy crap. I have an hour to kill - Im gonna see if its on the news

Buck 12:36pm   
When are you gonna tell Christopher he could have had five cats?

“Everyone out,” Bobby calls through the cab.

Eddie isn’t sure if he’s glad or not. On one hand it neatly derails the sudden spike of  _ No _ that stabs between his ribs like a knife. Thanks to last year all he can think of when he hears the news is Taylor Kelly’s red hair, green eyes like flint, and those flustered smiles Buck had given her. On the other hand, it does mean he’s out of time to respond, and the second text doesn’t churn his stomach like the first. He finds himself smiling instead, because of course Christopher showed Buck his drawing of their homes, and of course Buck asked lots of questions, so of course Chris told him about Sophie having a cat in hers.

There had been a wicked flash in Buck’s eyes when he looked up over Christopher’s head that evening that promised this wasn’t going to be left alone.

Eddie reluctantly slides his phone into his pocket and pushes open the door. They all disembark, the kitchen in the loft calling their names as the vehicles begin cooling off. 

They’ve barely made it ten steps towards the locker rooms when the sirens blare out deafeningly across the ceiling again. Everything swims red and Eddie’s eardrums throb. A ripple spreads out between the crew on shift; a shared exhale lamenting the near miss of lunch.

Bobby heaves a sigh louder than everyone and throws a mournful look towards the upstairs kitchen. When he turns back to them, though, it’s with the kind of smile you’d expect to see on a parent reluctantly amused by their kids misbehaving. He raises an arm and makes a ‘round up’ gesture with his circling finger.

“Back out. Let’s go. Debrief on the road.”

Eddie pulls out his phone again when they’re flying through intersections towards a ten thirty-six, code four; extrication from a vehicle.

Buck hasn’t sent anything else; he knows calls come in between one breath and the next, so Eddie just responds to the last two.

12:41pm   
It wont be on the news. Tell you later. Theyre fine. And we re not having the cat discussion

Buck replies half an hour later and Eddie only reads it at almost three in the afternoon after they’ve broken nine college kids out of a mini bus in a road accident.

Buck 13:12pm   
News is unreliable anyway. I texted Athena

Buck 13:12pm   
I hope you have a plan for when Christopher asks Santa for a cat

.

The cat request might be an issue Eddie has to deal with in a few months, but not yet.

What Christopher does ask for just two days later is Buck.

Eddie’s woken when he hears the footsteps padding to his door and cracking it open in the dark. The glowing numbers on his clock say its 1:53am, and they cast enough pallid light for him to see Christopher; his sleep-mussed hair and wrinkled pyjamas, glasses missing as he rubs his fists into his eyes.

“Nightmare?” Eddie asks gently, dreams dripping away from him as he sits up.

Christopher nods. He asks for Buck.

Since they implemented a sort of system of calling in the evenings or over breakfast, Christopher’s nightmares aren’t usually so gripping, or so linked to being separated that he’s driven from his bed at night. Trauma isn’t logical, though, and recovery isn’t linear. Eddie knows there will be the bad nights, the bad days, he’s just glad there’s less of them as time goes on.

Eddie reaches for his phone on the side table.

Buck’s been sleeping better, too, but he’s as much as told Eddie to call whenever he or Christopher need. He’s not sure if it’s relief or guilt he feels when the phone rings almost four times before Buck picks up. There’s sleep laced in his voice when he answers but the second word out of his mouth is Christopher’s name. The first is Eddie’s.

Eddie hands him across. Christopher scrambles up onto the free side of the bed to curl himself around the phone, and Eddie lays back down to listen. If he shuts his eyes, Buck might as well be in the room.

It feels more dangerous to think that when he wants it for reasons that have nothing to do with their nightmares.

.

“Pizza’s here!”

Eddie ducks into the kitchen holding the hot boxes aloft with just a glance back down the hall to be sure the door latched when he kicked it closed.

When he looks forward again, he catches Christopher tracking past, crutchless and carefully carrying a hollowed out pumpkin that’s almost large enough he could wear it as a helmet.

The Halloween usual craze isn’t at full throttle yet, but the neighbour already has a pumpkin on her doorstep and Carla said her kids were choosing theirs over the weekend. So, when Buck arrived after his shift at the LAFD and herded them both into his car to go get their own, Eddie couldn’t really complain.

Plus, Christopher was excited, so that was enough.

(He felt a bit like the only adult present as Buck and Christopher carefully debated which were the best ones, doing absurd things like  _ listening _ to the squashes to narrow down their choices. 

Then Buck had reached around Eddie to hold a huge pumpkin in front of his face and asked, “See? Can’t you feel it calling to you?”

What Eddie could feel was the fragile inches of space between his back and Buck’s chest like the air there was pressurised - but nothing from the pumpkin. 

“You’re an idiot,” he said, fondly. He bought the pumpkin. Buck could probably have bought fifty pumpkins, with the aim of lining his entire porch with them and Eddie might not have protested.)

In the Diaz kitchen, Buck moves a second pumpkin - this one only half carved out, the insides still pulpy and mashed up - from the table across to the worktop where it’s out of the way. He pulls on the pair of dishwashing gloves by the sink, runs the tap and starts grabbing all the spoons and knives they’ve been using.

“Leave it,” Eddie says, setting down the pizzas when there’s room for them. He scoots the last pumpkin down the table where they won’t knock it. It’s Eddie’s one, and he’s already carved a cross-eyed face into it.

Buck hasn’t replied, still watching the sink fill up even as he drizzles dishwasher soap over the amassed cutlery.

Eddie turns to fetch plates and gently nudges his knuckles into Buck’s waist as he passes. He doesn’t say anything; he’s not really sure himself if he means it as a reprimand, or whether he’s offering a quiet kind of support. He knows, realistically, that Buck does dishes at his own home when he has to, and that eventually he will have to find ways of getting back into these chores. It’s just hard, after so long, to shut off the instinct that’s trying to guard him from it.

He settles for the quiet touch to his side.

Buck’s eyes flick over to him and back. He smiles down at the counter and then turns off the tap. “Yeah, okay.”

Dinner passes quickly. Three pizzas don’t last long between them, and the few leftovers are crammed into the fridge for later. Buck goes back to the sink, but his hands aren’t shaking when he pulls on the gloves so Eddie quietly clears the table, trying to keep half an eye on Buck’s back without being too obvious about it. He knows he probably fails but Buck doesn’t call him out either.

After he’s done leaving everything on the drainer, Eddie presses a towel into his hands, even though the gloves are thick, and then a beer. Christopher’s pulled on his pyjamas and smiles so hard he squints behind his glasses as Buck joins them on the couch to watch Hotel Transylvania.

.

As October creeps onward Halloween starts to filter it’s way into everything and it’s only a matter of time before the firehouse are dealing with spooky-related callouts again.

First there’s handfuls of witchy films on the TV at any given time of day. Shops fill their windows with cheap plastic skeletons, hanging ghosts and ugly costume masks. No less than four more pumpkin patches have appeared as if by demonic summoning in locations ranging from busy crossroad junctions right to one on a distant hiking trail. Eddie’s porch is home to three mismatched pumpkins, all carved with loopy faces.

“I guess I could take it home,” Buck had said when Christopher asked what would happen to his.

Eddie scoffed at him. “You have nowhere to keep a pumpkin. Besides; you’re the one who thinks they have feelings. Put it outside with the others; you’ll just have to visit it.”

Buck had laughed and placed it behind the other two without a word of protest.

Eddie is still kind of waiting for a neighbour to ask who carved them.

.

It’s approaching eleven at night and there’s nine hours left on Eddie’s twenty four hour shift when they get the call.

“What’s the deal, Cap?” Chimney asks when they’re already on the road.

Bobby turns to them slowly, expression blank as he looks up from the handheld that sends out all their call details. He tells them like it’s a question.

“I- Someone got attacked by their...Ouija board?”

Hen’s head jerks up. “I’m sorry, they got attacked by what now?”

Bobby throws up his hands helplessly. “That’s all I know.”

“That’s one pissed off ghost,” Eddie says.

Chimney looks around at them with wide eyes and clears his throat thickly. “Halloween. It’s started.”

.

“They’re too cute,” Buck says. “I’m not sure how they stand it. Do you think it’s possible to actually taste sugar from being too cute?”

Eddie turns to look at him. “What?”

Buck shrugs, nodding towards his kitchen. They’re both on the couch, the tv playing quietly to itself and Christopher with his nose buried in pages of colouring, spread across the floor. Over in the kitchen, Maddie and Chimney are giggling together, dipping and ducking around each other as they put the finishing touches on bowls of ice cream.

Chimney brandishes a stainless steel scoop at her and Maddie squeals, rearing out of range and bringing up a hand towel to whack him harmlessly over the arm.

“Hey now, careful,” Buck calls. “He’s almost died twice already.”

Chimney makes an indignant noise at him, but Maddie rolls her eyes, picks up two of the bowls and makes her way towards them. Eddie has half a mind to wince at the casual mention of Chimney’s second near-brush, but Maddie doesn’t seem to falter. They know that Chimney’s stabbing wasn’t her fault, but Eddie also knows she didn’t believe that for a long time. Perhaps this is something she and Buck have talked about before. Eddie has enough sisters of his own to know that sometimes something from one of them doesn’t cut in the same way it would with anyone else.

“Clearly you don’t want ice cream,” she says, waving the bowls in front of them.

“Hey, I have no part in this,” Eddie says, holding up his hands.

Buck shoots him a narrow look of mock betrayal.

Maddie sighs and hands Eddie one of the bowls. He’s guessing it’s something Bobby’s provided instructions for, because there’s a hot waffle in the bottom, and the ice cream is melting down around it, stabbed with a wafer and covered in shavings of chocolate.

“Aw, come on,” Buck protests, glancing between Eddie’s bowl and his own, held hostage in Maddie’s hands. “Okay, fine - you’re adorable and perfect for each other. Happy?”

Maddie’s head cocks to the side and she smiles brightly and perfunctorily at him. “Yes. Thank you.”

Then she almost throws the remaining bowl at Buck. He startles on the couch, flailing to catch it and keep it upright with a spluttered exhale of shock. He keels sideways and Eddie shifts into his space, solid ground for him to lean against as he finally stabilises the bowl, catching the spoon before it flicks. While Buck’s distracted, though, Maddie leans across the arm of the couch, fingers prodding at him, anywhere across his torso she can reach between his arms.

“‘You’re. The. Worst. Little. Brother,” she says, half laughing, each word followed with a poke. Buck’s own laughter cracks a little into snatched breaths and Eddie feels them hitch against his side as he tries to evade her.

Buck twists, half into the couch, and curled forward - not to protect his ice cream, Eddie realises, but his hip.

He still bruises too easily, and Maddie isn’t pressing hard at all; probably not hard enough to even leave a mark on Christopher, but on Buck she will. Eddie can already picture it; the way the ones on his ribs will come up first because the bone is closer to the surface. He still has the bruise on his hip. It’s much less angry now, Buck insists; finally starting to go away, but it’s there enough that it’ll hurt like a bitch if Maddie hits it.

Eddie almost fumbles his own bowl in the second it takes him to snatch a cushion from nearby and turn, shoving it across Buck’s stomach in the space between Maddie’s fingers.

She shoots him a look that’s hard to puzzle out but Buck’s jumpy exhales have already stopped, slipping into even breaths.

“Armour,” Eddie says, pulling a smirk back onto his face. “I have sisters, too.”

Maddie snorts in patent exasperation. She prods twice more at Buck - fingers digging harmlessly into the stuffed cushion - and then stands up and heads back to Chimney.

Buck breathes out slowly.

Maddie doesn’t know. Eddie’s sure about it. Obviously as a nurse she would know the side effects of blood thinner medication, but Eddie already knows first hand it’s easy to not think straight, or apply basic training when it’s someone close to you. So Buck hasn’t told her, or shown her, about the bruising, or maybe any of it.

He kind of thinks she should know; if only to avoid tiny things like this, but he also knows why Buck wouldn’t tell her; the same reasons he didn’t tell anyone.

Eddie doesn’t say anything now as Buck sits slowly upright, re-adjusting himself against the back of the couch. Eddie’s glad he knows now, but it’s not up to him to say anything of it. He shoots a sideways look, but Buck’s moving easily enough; no winces or stiffness. Maybe, through the layers of the hoodie he’s pulled on, he might be lucky.

“Thanks,” Buck says, very quietly. He throws another glance back at the kitchen. Maddie and Chimney look like they’re feeding each other scoops, laughing as they try to overload the spoons. “I take it back,” he says then. “It’s less cute, more like…evil.”

“I’ll tell them you said that,” Eddie mutters.

Buck thumps him across the leg, smirking into his bowl.

“Do it and I’ll buy Christopher a cat.”

.

Buck does buy him a cat.

It’s a lump of polystyrene covered in a layer of glossy fake fur. It stands about a foot high - so essentially lifesize - with an ultra-soft bottlebrush tail sticking up and a pair of glass eyes that shine luminous gold. Literally. They glow in the dark.

“Yeah, I didn’t know that at the time,” Buck says, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck as they all stare at it on the windowsill with the lights out. “It’s creepy, right?”

The five dollar Halloween window decoration gazes back at them, stiff as a board and blacker than a silhouette. It’s eyes shine like radioactive beacons.

“No,” Christopher refutes happily. “He can see in the dark. It’s cool.”

So the cat stays.

Christopher tells Eddie over breakfast, just as Carla comes in the door that he’s going to call it Rupert. Eddie wonders when this became his life while Carla sniggers to herself over a cup of herbal tea.

Eddie tells Maddie that Buck thinks she should dress up as Elphaba from Wicked for Halloween.

.

“No, Sir, I promise you don’t need surgery. You’re going to be just fine.”

“But it’s bad, right? Does it seem bad? It feels bad.”

“You have a hairline fracture in your femur and four broken ribs,” Chimney says, equal parts patient and exasperated. “It will feel pretty bad but a few weeks rest with a nice cast and you’ll be good as new.”

“Okay, but,” the patient - a wide, greying man in his mid fifties now strapped to a stretcher - gives a shifty look up the street towards where the cops have cordoned off the road. “Do you think you could maybe give me an IV? A drip? One of those oxygen masks? Just so it looks a little more life-threatening, you know?”

Chimney stares at him, mouth slack, at a loss, and Hen steps in.

“You...want to look like you’re gonna die?”

The man smiles at her. “Just a little. My girlfriend left me for someone younger and I just thought if she heard and thought it was bad-”

Hen grimaces and there’s a fine edge in her voice as she says, “I’m afraid we can’t waste resources quite like that so you might want to think up a better way to win her back than capitalising on a few broken bones.”

“Wait,” Eddie interrupts, abandoning the debris he’s been trying to clear from the asphalt. He strides over to them, still holding the mangled handlebar of the mobility scooter the patient had been riding. “Tell me you didn’t  _ cause _ this to win back some girl?”

Hen and Chimney swing to stare at him with twin expressions of shock. The man doesn’t even have the grace to look guilty.

“She’s the love of my  _ life _ ,” he wails. “Oh, Persephone-”

Chimney shoves him into the back of the ambulance alongside one of the paramedics in their secondary unit and slams the door shut.

Eddie puffs his cheeks and blows out a long breath while Hen shakes her head, staring unfocused up the street.

“Well,” she says.

“Yeah,” Chimney agrees.

“Good luck to Hades,” Hen nods. She bangs on the back of the bus and the engine starts up.

“Clean up?” Chimney asks, looking around.

The remains of the mobility scooter are scattered across the street and sidewalk, half of the chassis still twisted around the lamppost it had crashed headlong into. He was lucky he was only going at eight miles an hour.

“No,” Bobby says, appearing from around the side of the ladder truck. “We’ve got another call; we’ll leave this with the PD and they can bring in a recovery team. Load up.”

They all move at once. Eddie throws aside the handlebar he’s still holding and turns - only to almost slam into Bobby, who’s standing between him and the firetruck.

“Eddie,” Bobby says, and Eddie doesn’t know exactly what it is, but something about the way Bobby says his name lands low in his stomach and makes everything stop.

“Cap?”

Bobby swallows. “The call. It’s at the LAFD.”

The words resonate. There’s the space of a heartbeat where they don’t make sense, and then they translate in Eddie’s brain with a lancing spike of horror. It feels like someone has buried a javelin in his chest.

“Buck’s working today.” He hears the words like someone’s shouted them from a mile away, but they’re his, punched out of his chest without air.

Eddie barely even realises he’s moving until he’s already pushed past Bobby, crossed the distance to the truck and is hauling open the door. Bobby doesn’t try to call out to him, or slow him down. He’s also leaping up into the cab and waving the driver on while his door is still half open.

Eddie barely gets his seatbelt on before he’s pulling out his phone. He’s distantly aware he’s shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s panic or adrenaline or both, but the flood of it in his bloodstream is like a tidal wave carrying shards of glass.

“What’s going on, Cap?” Hen asks. Her voice is wary.

Eddie thumbs his speed-dial and presses the phone to his ear hard enough to hear the plastic creak. He remembers a white-knuckled grip on his phone in the dark, back over the summer and feels like his lungs are full of barbed wire.

“The call came from the LAFD,” Bobby says. The words sound solid, steel-plated, but Eddie can hear the worry under them. He feels Hen and Chimney spin to stare at him and tugs off his headset.

The road noise and roar of the engine is thunderous without them. The firetruck is all metal panels - an image of Christopher’s drawings springs to mind - and sound amplifies inside it.

Nothing is quite enough to drown out the phone line ringing in his other ear, though.

Four rings, five.

It’s more times than it’s rung for months; since the day he’d left a message in Buck’s voicemail when he was standing in a flooded street with no idea Buck and Chris had been there to see it happen.

“Buck was working?” Chimney asks.

There’s no reply, but someone must have nodded because Eddie hears Hen suck in a shaky breath that catches like a sob. There’s a frantic rush of movement from Chimney’s seat that follows.

“What’s the call?” Hen asks next. “What happened?”

“Fire,” Bobby says succinctly. “We don’t know the cause.”

Ten rings, eleven.

He’s not hanging up, not until Buck answers or-

“ _ Hey, you’ve reached Evan Buckley, I’m probably doing something dumb so leave a message. _ ”

The human heart is, on average, the size of a fist. It beats around one hundred and fifteen thousand times a day, every day from four weeks after conception to the time of death. The sound of a heartbeat comes from the opening and closing of four valves as two gallons of blood are pumped around the body through sixty thousand miles of blood vessels. It possesses its own electrical impulse, making it capable of beating even outside the body if it can still get oxygen.

Eddie feels like his heart is bleeding out on the ground.

He’s never heard this voicemail message before. There wasn’t even an automated one the day of the tsunami - it was cut off, Eddie later realised, because the phone had been lost to the sea. This has been recorded since. Buck sounds happy and peaceful, and tucked just faintly into the background, Eddie can hear Christopher laughing.

“Eddie?” Hen asks, very, very gently.

He shakes his head, won’t open his mouth, and tries again anyway.

They’re going at over sixty miles an hour in a forty zone, having to dodge traffic that tries to clear a path and it still feels too slow.

Then Chimney suddenly speaks. “Maddie? Hey, yeah, it’s m-”

Eddie can hear Chimney’s phone humming but it’s not loud enough to pick out the words. He lifts his head and grits his teeth until his vision focuses again. Hen’s face is a fixed mask and Chimney rubs a hand over his head, eyes tight.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re on the way there now, we got a call-..............It’s the headquarters; I figure it’s hitting a bit close for most teams so I don’t think they’re being picky about who shows up. We were close by. …………...Well I didn’t know his schedule but- yeah. Pretty sure he’s there.”

Eddie catches Chimney’s eye. His reaction was all the proof the others needed.

Buck’s never not answered his phone since the tsunami. It’s not even like he’s missed a call while he ran out to his car and then phoned right back. He’s never not answered.

Hearing the message on the end; his voice, recorded and real but also like a ghost left behind in his place is jarring in a way that’s bone deep, distorted and wrong in the fabric of the world. If he’s not answering, it’s because he can’t.

They turn onto the downtown strip and suddenly the building is ahead.

It’s already surrounded by firetrucks from at least four different houses and the plume of smoke is thick, black and snarling as it churns out of broken windows, seeking the sky. There’s enough that it would have been visible from miles back, but Eddie wasn’t looking. He’s a little glad he’s only seeing it now. The glass and concrete walls have been scorch stained, the panes warping and plaster cracking. The fire glows from every open crevice and pore, a macabre facsimile of the lantern light shining through the wonky eyes of the pumpkins on Eddie’s porch.

“-on’t do it. Maddie; you don’t want to come down here.”

Eddie zones back in. Chimney winces as he glances out the windshield.

“You won’t be able to get anywhere near the building anyw-.............Yes. Of course. I promise…………. Maddie. We’ll find him. …………...Okay. Yeah, we will. Bye.”

He hangs up.

“Anything?” Bobby asks as they’re waved hastily through the roadblock and accelerate down the street.

Chimney rubs a hand over his face, already throwing off his seatbelt. “She doesn’t know much that we don’t already. Cops have been called, and they’re re-routing as many firehouses as they can spare. The building’s full of people who are trained with fires; they had about nine calls all come in right around the time the fire first took up, all of their stories seem to match.

“General consensus is it started about halfway up but no one’s been able to identify what so far. At least one of the elevator shafts is down because one of the calls came from inside and they said it was jammed. Three floors have been declared active. The lower ones seem sound but there’s been issues evacuating above.”

By the time that’s said, the truck has screeched to a stop in the nearest available space and they’re already hitting the ground.

Bobby passes a hand signal to another firehouse captain and then nods them all that way.

“Okay, let’s see where we can best be put to use. We have to work with everyone right now to cover as much ground as possible; no doubling up on one issue if it’s already got the cover it needs, clear?”

“Cap,” they all say in acknowledgement.

“Diaz,” Bobby says, and the name cuts through the haze of hyperfocus that’s settled in Eddie’s brain. “Is your head with us?”

Bobby’s worried, but this is Eddie’s job, it’s what he does, and he’s good at it. He knows Buck is, too, and that right now, losing his mind with what if’s doesn’t help. It won’t help him make it home. He can compartmentalise. He swallows hard, grits his teeth and sets the burning of unshed tears to the haemorrhaging ache in his chest. He feels it sear and cauterise. Then he pushes it aside.

He nods.

“Tell me where to go.”

The Captains convene with Bobby while they grab all their things. Units are being split up; anyone with medical training is recruited for evacuation, everyone else is being sent in to try to tackle the blaze.

“I’ll be honest,” one of the guys says to Bobby, “We could do with more on evac. The lower floors cleared out okay, but people have been trapped on the higher levels.”

Bobby turns to them and catches Eddie’s eye. He’s not a paramedic, but he has had training. He nods. Bobby says, “You can have all my medics. And Eddie was trained for a war zone.”

The guy is already jamming his mask back on. “Good. Feels like one of those now.”

.

The lobby is more of a mess than it was the day Eddie and Christopher picked Buck up for lunch, but it’s at least mostly intact. The first few floors have gotten away with minimal scarring and have been quickly cleared out.

It leaves space for a new horror to strike.

All of the sprinklers have been triggered and they’re still going; dousing the corridors and rooms in wide arcs of water. They would be, of course. The LAFD building, purely on the virtue of what it stands for is one of the most up to date, code-legal buildings in LA when it comes to fire safety. The sprinklers will be going strong for a while yet, and hopefully at least slowing down the path of the fire until a source is found.

Eddie can feel the pressure of the spray beating down on his back through the heavy turnout jacket; the silty slip of it dripping through the soot and smoke that’s already laying on him.

Buck is in the building, and that means he can feel that, too. He might have worked on the lower floors, or been lucky and been in the lobby or down the street grabbing some food when it started, but there’s no way in hell that this happened and he just waited outside.

If he wasn’t caught in it to start with, then he ran into it afterwards.

Eddie thinks of him washing pumpkin pulp off of a handful of knives and spoons and the way he hadn’t needed to shoot careful glances at the faucet as much as usual, and his heart twists. He doesn’t deserve to go backwards.

The lower floors may have survived the worst, but the entire stairwell is a funnel. It’s insufferably hot and thick with killer smoke, the hazy, white kind. Carbon isn’t completely burning off so there’s probably monoxide among other fumes, trapped in the stair shaft like a chambered bullet in a gun barrel. The higher they climb, navigating around other firefighters, the hotter it gets.

They reach the twelfth floor, and duck through the safety curtain that one of the other teams have put up. It’s the best they can do right now to keep the doorway clear for quick exits without leaving the fire an open path to spread into the stairs. They’ve only stayed clear this long because all the access onto it are fire doors.

It’s like stepping into another world; some kind of hellscape from a video game. 

The walls are black, the smoke too thick to properly see, and embers catch in the air like fireflies. The fire is loud. Fire doesn’t make noise; it’s everything that it touches and ruins and turns to charcoal that makes sound; cracks and cries and shrieks, but this fire is screaming in Eddie’s ears. Desks have been upturned, paper littering the floor covered in boot prints, potted plants burning like California wildfires.

Eddie sucks in a breath through the filtered oxygen in his mask and taps his radio to signal to Hen and Chimney. He’s not shaking; in fact, everything on the inside has gone muted, like turning a tv to low volume.

He has a son to make it home to, and he’s not going home without Buck, either.

.

“Thank you, thank you so much, I- I thought- I was going to die.”

“Hey, you’re okay now,” Eddie tells the woman, helping her out of the shadow of the building. He steers her across the street to the traffic light blankets set up on the far side. “You’ll be fine, just sit here, okay, and make sure you get checked out.”

“Thank you,” she repeats. Shaking, still bleeding sluggishly from a cut on her arm and a graze on her cheek, she lets Eddie help lower her onto a space on the green triage mat.

A paramedic rushes across to them.

“What do we got?”

“Minor injuries, unlikely to be concussed, seems stable but she took quite a hit of smoke,” Eddie reels off. “You good?”

The paramedic nods at him. “I’ve got her. Thanks, Diaz.”

Eddie turns and runs back inside.

.

“Diaz. Shout out,” Eddie calls into the blackened room.

“Spears, Wilkes and Houser,” Comes a gruff reply. “You a Paramedic?”

Eddie shakes his head, even as he moves forward. “No. Army medic previously. First responder. One eighteen. What do you need?”

The man crouched on the floor is a Captain. He’s bleeding near his temple, blood trailing into a bushy white eyebrow, and there’s two other firefighters with him. Two people lay amongst debris in front of them, unconscious, one of them with a clearly broken leg. The sprinklers have saturated the carpet and killed the fire closest, leaving a lot of charcoal, grime and ash.

“What don’t I need?” he asks. “Something for a splint, two backboards, neck braces, probably a tourniquet, two masks, an oxygen tank and a goddamn umbrella, and that’s just for starters.”

Eddie lifts his radio from the strap over his chest, thumb already on the button. “Hey, Chim, come in.”

“Go for Han - Eddie what you got?”

“Floor thirteen, we’re in the second conference room on the right. If you and Hen are done with the vics you found on twelve then I need you both up here. Two people, unconscious, definite broken leg. Bring what you can carry.”

“We’re on it. Out.”

Eddie looks over at the Captain. He doesn’t need to relay any of it - he heard.

“Han and Wilson,” he says instead, to save introductions later. “They’re the best paramedics we’ve got.”

The Captain and his two men are already doing what they can. Eddie has no use here, not with Hen and Chim so close behind. He’s better off continuing on.

The Captain nods at him, recognising the same thing without either of them needing to say it. “Thanks, Son.”

Eddie says, “If I find an umbrella, it’s yours,” and continues down the hall.

.

“No, we can’t just pull him out. The beam is wedged in there. We need to lever it off.”

“Air pocket?” the guy on the floor asks, hard between his teeth on a hiss of pain. His name is Kyle and he’s barely into his twenties. His blood, combined with the rain from the sprinklers has turned the soot on the floor into some kind of tar-like sludge.

“No can do, Man,” Eddie says apologetically. “Nothing to push against; not with the ceiling like this.”

The ceiling is thick with smoke and invisible fumes, heavy and hot in a way that stings of a familiar danger.

“Damn,” Kyle coughs. Blood flecks his face. It’s not good. “Tell me what happens if you just pull.”

The other firefighter leans over, shooting Eddie a look that he can read in an instant. She’s from another unit, he’s never met her before but he’s been calling her Lawson because that’s what her turnout jacket has printed on it. Her dark skin helps to hide the soot.

“You don’t want to know,” she says. She lifts her radio. “Alan, jaws of life - we need them ten minutes ago, floor fourteen behind the god-ugly wall art of the llama.”

“It’s an alpaca,” Kyle groans. “I do want to know. Please.”

Lawson sighs, shoots Eddie another look and then shrugs faintly.

“If we’re really lucky,” Eddie says, “We pull you out clean, your leg gets left behind, and we get you to triage outside before you bleed out.”

“Do I want to know what happens if I’m unlucky?”

“Like I said,” Lawson interrupts, tone firm but strangely gentle. “No. Now hold on.”

Dashing footsteps come towards them, and both Eddie and Lawson look up - no way could Alan have made it that fast. Another guy in turnout gear appears in the doorway, silhouetted sickly in smoke and fire.

“Castillo,” he says, accented. “Shout out.”

“Lawson and Diaz,” Eddie replies. “We got a crush injury.”

“Just the two of- Wait - Diaz?”

Eddie squints up at the guy’s shadow. “Yeah?”

“You know an Evan Buckley?”

Everything inside Eddie seizes up and for a panicked second he wonders if he’s suffocating but then his lungs inflate, press bruisingly hard into his ribs and his throat opens up. The hit of oxygen through his mask is a brain rush that sends the world technicolour.

“Buck-yes, yeah-I- Is he-?”

“He’s okay,” Castillo says, but there’s an odd note in his voice that Eddie doesn’t like.

“Where is he?”

“Floor sixteen. I left him with two more of my unit.”

Eddie knows that Kyle is in pain, and bleeding out into a swamp of water and silt. He also knows that he’s not going anywhere until Alan runs up fourteen floors in full turnout gear with fifty pounds of hydraulic steel alloy. They need to do everything they can in that time to make sure he’s ready to move as soon as they free him. Eddie feels like his bones are breaking apart under his skin but he can’t leave. He won’t. This kid’s life rests halfway in his hands and he wouldn’t forgive himself for leaving if he even considered it an option.

“How bad is it?” Eddie asks instead, nodding to the ceiling. He at least wants to know that, all too aware of all the ways Buck could have been wounded. He feels hollow. He’s two floors away...

Castillo seems to catch himself with a double take, then he says, “Oh shit. No - He’s not- he isn’t hurt. Not- He identified himself as a firefighter with the one eighteen when we found him. He’s helping us get people out. I offered to run down to find something for a backboard - got a female victim up there, possible spinal injury along with about four others - I’m headed right back. Ev-Buck, gave me a bunch of names just in case I stumbled across any of his unit, to let them know. I know Captain Nash, I can’t remember the others though.”

“You knew his,” Lawson points out, jabbing a finger at Eddie.

The guy in the doorway snorts, and it’s a sound of amusement that’s almost alarmingly out of place. “I’m Mexican,” he says. “That one stuck. Also because Buck said you wouldn’t answer to it.”

_ Dios _ , Eddie’s going to kill him. But right now he’s too light-headed with relief to feel much else.

“There’s desks over that way,” Lawson says, taking up the slack when Eddie doesn’t respond. Eddie might be imagining it, but it looks like there’s something knowing in her dark eyes (Really? Is it that obvious to everyone even in a smoke filled room with a kid dying between them and barely any visibility?). “You can have one if you bring one our way first.”

“Done,” Castillo says, and then he’s gone, clattering away amid the rattling noise of the fire eating its way through steel and fibre. The smoke cloud looms.

“You good, Diaz?” Lawson asks him. It’s still fierce, but somehow the gentlest she’s sounded since he met her here, next to this pinned down kid fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m good,” he says. “Where’s Alan?”

She picks up her radio. “Where’s my jaws, Warner?”

It cracks to life and Alan responds, breathless on the other end. “On the twelfth. We got requisitioned. On my way now.”

“Hold on there, Kyle,” Lawson says. “Just hold on.”

Kyle’s gaze doesn’t travel to her; he’s gazing unfocused up at the ceiling around the oxygen mask they’ve put on his face. “You t-think that my b-oyfriend will forgive me for b-being late?”

Lawson squeezes his hand. “If he doesn’t, he can answer to me.”

Kyle’s breath fogs up the mask. “His parents-they- they’re not-...I didn’t think we’d get to be happy, y-you know?”

“I know,” Lawson says quietly. “I had a girlfriend. Now I have a husband. It wasn’t the easiest road, but I’m going home to him. And you’re going home to your boy.”

Kyle nods. His eyes drift.

“How ab-out you?” He asks, vaguely in Eddie’s direction. “Diaz, right? That’s what he c-alled you? Who do you ha-ave to go home to?”

“A son,” Eddie answers. And then, because it’s still sitting like lead in the pit of his stomach, and because the moment feels oddly isolated, he adds, “Buck’s two floors up from here and I’m not going home without him, either.”

There’s a crash, and everything seems to shake for a second, even though the building’s foundations are stable. Then Castillo returns, hauling two desks with him, broken free of their legs.

“Backboard at your service,” he says, lowering it flat next to them. He shoots Kyle a worried look. “You two don’t need any help?”

“Nothing that you can do,” Lawson says. “I’m a trained Paramedic and it sounds like they need you upstairs more.”

Castillo nods, but he hesitates a second longer, this time turning to Eddie. “You want me to pass him a message?”

It’s tempting, but Eddie’s mind is also blank. There’s nothing he wants to say to Buck through this man that he wouldn’t already know.

Instead, flash impulse sparks between his nerve endings and he sits back to shrug out of his heavy turnout jacket.

“Listen,” Eddie says, handing it over, pressing it into Castillo’s hands. “He won’t be in uniform-”

“He’s not,” Castillo agrees. “He’s wearing one of the PT t-shirts. He had a hoodie on when we found him but he gave it to someone.”

Of course he did.

“He’s on blood thinners,” Eddie says, fast now.

Castillo blinks at him, slightly vacant. Eddie guesses the medication is news to him; if Buck had told them, they might have made him leave, and he won’t. It’s not who he is. Castillo swallows thickly. “He uh- he said he just had to be careful, and with the shirt he’s wearing I figured he’d sprained something not- not that he could bleed out.”

He is careful, but in this building, today, that might not mean much.

“Give him that. Make him put it on,” Eddie says. “And tell him he’s an idiot.”

He almost says ‘ _ Tell him if he bleeds to death, I’ll kill him’ _ but he doesn’t want to chance it; breathing the words into reality, or reminding the other unit of the risk they’re taking on by letting him stay. There’s too big a chance Buck will continue on his own if they try to sit him out.

Castillo breathes a startled, tense laugh and nods. He balls up the jacket as much as he can and then retreats, grabbing his own desk. He arranges it in his arms and glances back just once, nods to them both, and is gone.

Kyle has passed out by the time someone races over to them identifying himself as Alan Warner. They prise the beam up off the kid’s leg with the jaws and slide him out. There’s not enough visibility to assess anything, and they don’t have enough equipment, so they move him straight to the waiting desk and rush from the room as quickly as they can.

They leave Alan in their wake radioing ahead to clear them room.

.

Eddie’s cutting back across the road again having dropped off another patient when he feels his phone buzz.

He stops on the spot, all the bustling noise of the carnage reduced to white noise and then plain silence as he grapples for his phone, so fast he almost fumbles and drops it. His heart gets lodged high in his throat, a heaving beat that threatens to burst his eardrums and rupture blood vessels.

He’d be happy for an unknown number, but it isn’t.

It’s Maddie’s name.

He answers because ignoring it was never an option.

“Maddie? What’s going on? Have you heard anyth-”

“I was going to ask you that,” Maddie fires back. She sounds like she’s close to tears and her voice is rough like she’s already cried once. “You’re at the scene. Is there anything?”

Eddie forces his breathing to slow down.

“He’s here. But I haven’t seen him. There’s about six teams all working with each other where we’re needed. This other guy- we crossed paths, and he said Buck was helping them. That’s the last I heard.”

Maddie’s silent for a second, and then - “I’m coming down there.”

“Wh-” Eddie throws a wild look around. The road is roped off far down the street in both directions, police manning the blocks while firetrucks and ambulances cluster across four lanes. “Maddie, you can’t even get clo-”

“I can’t just stay here.” Her breathing catches frantically as she reins herself back. “My shift is over, I’m- I can’t just sit and watch it on the news, okay? I don’t care, I just- I have to do something, Eddie. My brother is in that building. He’s not even got any of his kit. Would you stay at home?”

No.

Eddie thinks of the jacket he gave up, trusting it made it into Buck’s hands, but it’s not much. It’s not a radio, or a mask, or skull protection. It’s just, hopefully, something against the searing heat, the chance of cuts and abrasions, and the torrent from the sprinkl-

He’d forgotten, but now the thought rushes back; all the water still being pumped into the building, not to mention the guns and pressure hoses being manned from the street and aimed up at the glowing windows.

“Okay,” he says. “Come in from the North side; it’s not so backed up. Also, Athena’s been posted down there on the roadblock so you can talk to her. You might be able to help with triage if you want to keep busy or if not she might let you slide through. But I need you to do something first.”

It doesn’t even seem to occur to her to protest, too surprised at Eddie’s change of heart. “What?”

“Stop at Buck’s place. Bring a change of clothes.”

“Wh- How is that-”

“Please just do it,” Eddie says, forced between his teeth. “I can’t tell you why, but please. And if- if you find him when you get here...just... bring them.”

She sucks in a shaky breath, slow and uncertain, and then agrees. Eddie blinks soot out of his eyes. “Thank you. I have to go. North side. Stay safe, okay.”

He hangs up and heads back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm sorry? :/ But bear in mind we're halfway through the chapter, technically. It really sucks and I deliberated a fair bit on where to break it; nowhere was exactly ideal. Not too long a wait for the next bit, though!
> 
> Super random fact, too but a tiny 'behind the scenes' nugget - the character of Lawson is named for Bianca Lawson and that's who I had in my head. Obviously you're all free to imagine these extra faces however you like :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys - I'd hoped to get this out sooner. Most of it was written but then. Well. These assholes just kept having so much more to say.
> 
> It's a longer chapter because I wanted to get to a good break off point but haha - I'm still adding one more to the expected count because I have no control and these two are ridiculous.
> 
> As always a huge thank you to everyone following this and supporting it. All your incredible and thoughtful comments are more appreciated than I can say. Thank you.
> 
> Enjoy!

Eddie would say he loses track of time, but really, time hasn’t meant much at all since the first moment he stepped into the building. It’s still somehow daylight outside, even though it feels like he’s been walking through hell for years.

He crosses paths with numerous other firefighters, wading through smoke and the hot press of trapped heat. There’s ones running back and forth with different colour-coded extinguishers, smothering blankets and portable pumps, and ones with Paramedic patches that weave between them with backboards, oxygen masks and first-aid bags.

There’s still people being found, barricaded in rooms to avoid the blaze, or unconscious in the smoke, or worse still - burned and trapped. Eddie watches someone dash past holding two extinguishers - blue and black - and he catches the guy’s arm.

“Hey, sorry - do you have a cause yet?”

Blue is dry powder, and it’s safe against most of the likely causes, but black is CO2; more specific.

The firefighter shakes his head. “No, not yet. It’s a pain in the ass; we’ve got water pumps up here but we’ve got to be careful how much we can use them in case we trace back to anything electrical. Just hoping the blues can tackle the worst so we can start back-tracing it.” He pauses then to give Eddie a once-over. “You with the evac teams?”

Eddie hasn’t seen Hen in a while, but he hears her over the radio in snatches. Chimney he last saw carrying a young woman out into the stairwell and there was no time to call out to him. He hasn’t got a patient to rush back to right now.

“Yeah, but I’m clear if you need a hand.”

The firefighter gratefully drops one of the huge extinguisher tanks. “Appreciate it. We’re headed for thirteen.”

Eddie grabs it and follows him.

.

He finds himself rejoining the medic ranks just ten minutes later.

The extinguishers are dropped off and Eddie spots two responders with paramedic patches in a doorway, hunkered on the ground. He diverts towards them. A man in what was once an elegant suit goes into cardiac arrest before they can properly see the damage a fallen door has done to him. He dies under Eddie’s hands.

They move him off of the backboard so it can be used to carry out a secretary with a broken collarbone. One of the guys Eddie’s found himself with marks off the man’s body with a red X in a dwindling roll of tape before moving on.

They’ll come back for him, but for now, the living need them.

.

There’s a woman trapped in a bathroom when the door got half melted closed and they radio around for a pair of jaws for ten minutes before they can get to her. She’s not a firefighter; she’s worked in the LAFD building for most of her career as a paperwork assistant, but she’s sensible and pragmatic.

“I think I have a concussion,” she tells them through the gap they make for her. “I may have dislocated a finger and my ribs are bruised, not broken. I’ll be fine, just stand back and I can crawl out - I was a gymnast.”

So they stand back and let her.

Eddie is left to carry on alone while she’s escorted outside.

.

“Diaz!”

Eddie turns.

A thick cloud of white cuts through the smoky gloom and the blackened husk of the walls, and out of it Castillo walks towards him.

Eddie’s heart leaps, but he’s the only other person in the hall.

“Castillo, what-”

“Do you have a patient?” he asks, breathless. He lowers the fire extinguisher in his hands, the nozzle dripping listlessly. It’s a blue one, so it looks like they’re still guessing the source. “I need an extra pair of hands.”

Eddie forcibly swallows the question he wants to ask and nods. “I’m open. Lead the way - do we need anyone else?”

“Probably to be safe,” he replies. “Four people, all suffering smoke inhalation. It’s not good. They’re on the seventeenth. It’s above the fire but it’s thick enough to choke up there.”

Eddie grabs his radio even as he follows Castillo down the hall towards the stairwell, the wall of blistering heat hitting them as they step into the shaft.

“Hen? Come in. I’m headed two up from where you are. Could do with you up here for smoke inhalation.”

“Yeah,” Hen replies. “You and everybody else. I’m on you.”

Castillo nods his thanks. “You want to ask about Buck,” he says, as they jog up the stairs. “ _ Lo siento _ , we got separated. He-he was bleeding. Not much but-”

But Castillo knows about the medication. He knows that not much might not stay that way.

“He’s a firefighter,” Eddie says, swallowing back everything else. “He doesn’t have a deathwish. He knows what he’s doing.”

Castillo claps him once on the shoulder, and says nothing more.

.

The blowout ricochets outwards from the twelfth floor.

Eddie, crouched on the fourteenth, his fingers pressed to a woman’s pulse point, feels the tremor of it through his knees. There’s the tense feeling of a held breath in the wake of it, and then a rush of scorching heat that catches in the corridor as it hurtles up the stairwell. Then there’s a cacophony of shouts from below.

It sounds like they just lost the stairwell.

“What the fuck?” the paramedic with him demands. The name on her jacket says ‘Fleetwood’ but she’d dropped down beside him just a moment before saying, “Everyone calls me Mac.”

Eddie would appreciate the pun more if his heart wasn’t beating in his throat like cruel irony as the pulse under his fingers gets weaker.

“Wrong extinguisher?” Eddie hazards a guess. There’s a tightness in his throat, and he tries to remind himself to check the oxygen levels in his mask tank as soon as he’s free again. “Maybe they found a source. Pulse is weak.”

“Monoxide,” Mac says, grappling a mask over the woman’s nose. Her skin is red; too red. Eddie would have guessed carbon monoxide poisoning too.

There’s a shout in the hallway for critical assistance and Mac squeezes a hand over Eddie’s shoulder.

“I got her,” she says. “We’re going to make our way out. Go, help them.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate. She has more training than he does, and they know better than to be heroes; she wouldn’t have told him to go if she couldn’t handle it.

He gets up and hurries down the hall, stumbling into the stairwell. They haven’t lost it totally; it’s not a column of flame the likes of which you’d expect from an ancient Greek myth, but the fire did lash out and leave some damage. There’s no wall hangings in the shaft - safety regulations holding out - and nothing to easily catch light. There’s just black, charred scarring along the walls and banisters, originating like a spidery web from around the doorway to twelfth. The door is being extinguished quickly, lying in a mangled mess on the landing. 

Eddie hurries down two flights and edges around the firedoor before ducking into the blaze.

Hen is abruptly right in front of him.

“Hen! What hap-” Eddie’s eyes catch then and all the words stall in his mouth.

Her jacket is flayed open all down the arm in a smoking line and underneath, even through the soot and cauterised fibres, Eddie can see the shiny, blistering burn on her skin, wrist to elbow.

“Jesus. What happened?”

Hen pushes him aside to clear way for four more people lugging two makeshift stretchers between them. Her breathing is tight, pinched between her teeth and Eddie can’t see it through the mask and the smoke, but he knows her eyes will be dilated wide in pain, too. She shakes her head at him, arm carefully held out to the side to stop the burn rubbing against her layers.

“Pipe,” she says succinctly. “Burned right through.”

“You need to get it looked at,” Eddie tells her. He knows it’s probably redundant, that she’s aware of it, too, but he says it anyway.

“I know,” Hen agrees. “Just- there’s a guy-”

“Tell me where,” Eddie says. “I’ll get him. You get outside.”

Hen catches his arm to still him. “You can’t get him,” she says. Her breath mists up her mask and Eddie can barely see her. “To the left, by the archive room. The blowout dropped some of the plumbing on him. He’s impaled.”

Hen must have been either lucky or unlucky enough to be right next to him when it happened; the pipe raining down on them burned through her sleeve but missed her when it sank into her patient. Eddie swallows and tries to squeeze Hen’s hand even though his fingers feel numb.

“I’ve got it,” he tells her. “Now go.”

Hen looks angry with herself for a second, but she grits her teeth again, breathes hard enough to cloud her mask, and then leaves.

Eddie cuts into the corridor.

The blowout has rolled through all the pipework exposed in the ceiling and the sprinklers are dead here now. Maybe it’s some small measure of good fortune that the fireball also ate up most of the oxygen. It’s run its course and started to smother itself even as firefighters race through to beat it back.

Under the melted pipes and spray nozzles by the archive room, another responder sits with a man who’s already pale and drifting away. There’s too much blood on the carpet and the pipe angled down from the ceiling is still steaming, grotesquely piercing somewhere just below his ribs. The responder looks up at Eddie’s approach and shakes his head.

Eddie hands over the red tape; the last few feet left on the reel, and goes to see who else needs him.

.

“Diaz. Shout out.”

He can barely see anything, but he can hear movement. There’s the muffled sounds of instructions being passed between people, and the thick kind of coughing, heavy and suffocating on the lungs that comes with smoke poisoning.

“Prentiss and Fowler,” comes the reply, female. “Just two wounded here, one is compos mentis. We’re good but they need help further up. Vic passed out about two minutes ago.”

Eddie nods, remembers they probably can’t see that and echoes out an acknowledgement. He heads further up the hallway, ducked low. The ceiling is thicker than ever and seems malicious in a way that’s building; reaching a breaking point. He knows what that is, and what happens when it does, but he can’t see any way of stopping it in time.

Further up there’s a scuffle and a bitten off curse.

“Diaz. Shout out,” he calls again.

“Diaz?” that voice sounds familiar. “Lawson. You still here?”

Eddie smiles despite himself. “Went out to get a coffee, thought I’d drop by again.” He reaches her, a shadow in the gloom. “What do you need?”

There’s a broken window across the room, the daylight outside almost blinding, but it doesn’t reach them. Flames still lick at what remains of the curtains and they’ve spread out, chewing up the carpet and the nearby desks and engulfing a sofa. Not much of it burns clean and the smoke this side is heavy enough to settle on skin.

Lawson is crouched by a middle-aged man. There’s an oxygen mask on his face, that’s misting as he breathes, but not as much as it should, and he’s otherwise immobile. Clutching another oxygen mask to his face, is a younger man who looks like a terrified intern, his eyes wild and arms covered in streaks of charcoal.

“I can carry him,” Lawson says. “But I don’t think he can breathe properly. He has a broken wrist and I think he’s subluxed his shoulder. There’s no backboards.”

Eddie glances around, but it’s true. Everything here is still actively on fire, or it’s burned through and not safe. He glances at Lawson. She’s clearly strong, but the dead weight of her patient probably has more than fifty pounds on her.

“Nothing spinal, right?” Eddie asks.

“Not that I can tell. He had sensation before he passed out.”

Eddie nods. “I’ll take him. Better that he’s out of here than inside.”

He casts a last glance, just in case there’s anything they can do for a splint, and he sees it happen.

An ugly wall tapestry that’s just starting to catch, way across the room, glows at the fraying edges, and a spark leaps up into the smoke, embers flaring white-hot in the cloud.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. He has an instant to react. He shoves the intern backwards, under the cover of a collapsed desk, and then folds himself over the unconscious man on the floor.

The smoke ignites.

It starts near the tapestry, a cluster of leaping embers that fan out like watching synapses fire through the brain, and then in the span of a heartbeat, everything goes up. The smoke, cloying and heavy, coiled and waiting turns the ceiling to a gravity-defying sea of flames. It makes an unearthly sound that rattles bones as it flares above them and down the hall like a bomb detonating.

There’s a throbbing, scalding pain at Eddie’s back for a second, and then a physical weight lays over him instead. He folds closer to the floor, grits his teeth and the world swims behind his eyes in pulses of red and gold.

He’s rocked to the side a moment later, and blinks.

There’s screams echoing from further out and things are starting to fall from the ceiling - actual pieces of it, Eddie realises a beat later. Charred, smouldering and unstable, the panels are coming down.

“Diaz!”

Eddie looks up. His ears are ringing as he registers the shout came from just by his shoulder.

Lawson leans off of him. She’s backlit with a fiery glow now, and her jacket is smoking, the collar singed. Her expression sits somewhere between determined and annoyed.

“You called your friend an idiot,” she says. “But you’re the one who just used himself as cover and you don’t even have your turnout.”

“Thanks for not letting me burn,” Eddie replies, wincing. The back of his neck is sore, but she saved him from any lasting damage. “Let’s get them out.”

“The fuck was that?” the intern coughs as Lawson helps him out from under the desk. He gestures at the destroyed ceiling, the black debris floating down around them as the fire burns itself through.

“Flashover,” she tells him. “When smoke’s hot enough it can autoignite. Come on.”

Eddie braces himself and lifts up the man on the floor, throwing him over his shoulder and securing his weight. He’s limp and unresponsive.

“Can’t reach my radio,” he says to Lawson. “Call ahead and tell them we may need someone to intubate.”

.

The flashover was a hard hit to the entire floor.

“It’s unstable,” a firefighter called Dwyer says, tossing aside an empty fire extinguisher. “Ceiling is still coming down in chunks and as far as we can tell, its burning in the wall cavities. If you’re going up, watch your step.”

.

The building is declared clear of casualties minutes before the ceiling caves in on the thirteenth floor.

With all the trapped and wounded people outside - safe or otherwise - paramedic responders are radioed. Eddie’s found Mac again, and a guy from her unit called Vandross.

“No relation to Luther,” he says, with an air that implies it’s a frequent tagline.

They’re catching their breath in the stairway when all the radios go off to tell them it’s just the fire left now.

“At least it’s technically just on two floors now,” Mac says grimly.

“Do we have a source yet, Cap?” Vandross asks.

“Working on it,” comes the reply. “Be smart until then and don’t go spraying water on any wall sockets.”

.

“Fire’s under control,” Bobby says what feels like weeks later, but it’s somehow still daylight. “We’re really lucky that the stairwell held out like it did; most of the upper floors were able to clear out even with it still going.”

It’s the first time Eddie has seen him since they all split off on arrival. He’s covered in soot and grime, and this turnout pants look singed all up the legs like he stood in the fire like a person might stand in a foot bath. Athena might murder him.

“What’s the count?” Chimney asks. His hair is spiky with sweat and the scar on his forehead stands out lividly. He has a new scrape on his head, but it’s already been deemed superficial. He’s also shed his turnout jacket now they’re in the open air and his navy uniform looks clean and out of place without it.

“Haven’t got one yet,” Bobby says. “Triage is still full and they’re still sending off ambulances with the worst cases. I’m going in with the other Captains to do a sweep before the police can start checking things out.”

“Where do you want us?”

Hen stands up from her perch on the back of their firetruck and Bobby swings a stern gaze at her.

“I want you to sit down and take five.”

“I already took five,” Hen says. “And five before that.”

“Take five more,” Bobby replies, unmoved.

She rolls her eyes. Her sleeve has been properly cut away so there’s no evidence left of the searing metal pipe that had burned through it. Her arm is bandaged up instead with thick white gauze and tape but she still shoulders her medical bag on her good side.

“Cap- Bobby. I’ll be careful and I won’t move it more than I have to, but I can still help. They need us.”

Bobby looks pressed and he squeezes the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before sucking in a breath and agreeing a little unhappily. “Fine. But you sit out if it puts you in too much pain.”

“Believe me,” Hen scoffs. “I’m not risking Karen being that mad at me.”

“So…” Chimney starts them over.

Bobby nods to the traffic light triage mats. “Wherever you’re needed. Just do what you can, check in with each other. I’ll keep you posted.”

They nod, and then Chimney asks what none of them want to.

“And...no one’s had word from Buck?”

They all share a flighty, pained look.

“No,” Bobby admits. “But that doesn’t mean-”

“He was here,” Hen says. “We know he was.”

“But we don’t need to jump to conclusions,” Bobby says. Eddie can hear the raw catch in his words and it sounds like its out of worry more than out of breathing in fumes. “We do our jobs first.”

Hen presses her lips hard together and Chimney grimaces, nodding at the ground. Eddie isn’t sure what his expression does; he’s distracted from the burn between his ribs - he can feel it like a nightmare waiting; the thought of stumbling past Buck on one of the triage mats and being too late - by someone approaching.

It’s another Captain, striding towards them. It takes a second to place his face, especially now he’s seeing it with the mask off, but Eddie recognises him from inside the building, hours ago maybe, as he stops next to them. He’s not the only one who remembers.

“Never did find that umbrella, did you, one eighteen?” he asks. He’s smiling wanly under the thick brush of his moustache; exhausted but in as good spirits as can be expected. He holds his hand out and Eddie shakes it. “Thanks - Diaz, wasn’t it? Hank Spears, three forty-four.”

“Eddie Diaz,” Eddie supplies, nodding.

Hank turns and shakes Bobby’s hand, too. “Bobby. Good to see you. You got a good kid there.”

“They all are,” Bobby says proudly. “Your team out okay?”

“All accounted for. Yours?”

No.

Eddie doesn’t say anything but the falter must be visible because Bobby sighs. Hank’s expression shutters.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says.

“No, we- we didn’t lose anyone,” Eddie hurries to correct him, praying that in the time since he last saw Castillo, that’s held true. “Just…”

“He wasn’t on duty,” Bobby fills in. “But we know he was here. So until we get names through the medical list…”

“The waiting game,” Hank sympathises. “Well, I can throw his name at one of mine - she’s working the red mat. I hope he doesn’t show up there but another pair of ears helps.”

“Evan Buckley,” Bobby says. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank nods, already lifting his radio. “Lawson - keep your ears and eyes peeled for an Evan Buckley, would you?”

Eddie does a double take.

The voice that crackles back is familiar. “You got an Eddie Diaz with you, Cap?”

Hank lifts an eyebrow that’s almost as impressively bushy as his moustache. “You know him?”

“As of this afternoon, yes. That name is already on my watch list; I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“Atta girl,” Hank says fondly. “Out.”

Bobby turns to Eddie. Hen and Chim have already headed off, splitting up between the mats. “Go see what you can do. We’ll do a sweep and I’ll catch you all up.”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t move yet. “Hey, Cap? You’re human, too, you know. Athena’s monitoring the road. She knows you’re okay, right?”

Bobby glances up the street and claps Eddie on the shoulder with a weary smile. “She knows,” he says. “But we both have a job to do. There’ll be time afterwards.”

With that, Bobby turns and follows Hank to join up with the other Captains before they all march into the building.

.

When Eddie spots Buck, he’s not expecting it.

There’s medics all over the place; first responders and ones dispatched from the local hospitals, too, not to mention any extra first aiders in the area. There’s also one actual thoracic surgeon who’s driven across town and talked her way through the roadblock just to help. There’s sirens coming and going, ambulances shooting off and back again like shuttle buses to transport the critical cases. The fire engines are being stripped; all the equipment carted into the building by those without medical training to finally kill off the last of the fire and stabilise what they can.

It’s a lot of light and movement and noise and yet, when Eddie spots him, it’s like forced perspective through a camera lens; everything else clears out to the sides and his vision funnels.

Buck - it’s definitely Buck - is sat on the step at the back of an ambulance. There’s soot streaked on his face and neck, and he looks simultaneously red and pale underneath it. He’s curled forwards, waiting with uncharacteristic quietness as a paramedic shines a light in both his eyes. His clothes are clean, though; not the PT t-shirt Castillo said he had on, but what looks like a plain grey one, and jeans rather than sweats. Maddie must have found him.

He’s also still wearing Eddie’s turnout jacket. He’s taller than Eddie, but somehow looks dwarfed in it, and since he’s gotten changed at some point, it’s not like he just forgot about it; he put it back on.

Buck shrugs out from under the Paramedic’s flashlight with a weary expression, like he’s put up with it enough. He casts a look around, part hopeful, part aimless, seeking a distraction, maybe.

It’s like being struck by lightning when Buck’s eyes land on him.

For a shattered second, Eddie stops breathing and his vision sways, colour turning liquid. He watches Buck’s eyes go wide, the way that dizzying relief and shock slash across his face, sharper than a knife. Eddie’s already cut a direct line through the chaos towards him before he’s even noticed he’s moving.

Buck stumbles off the step and upright, batting away the hands that try to steady him. It looks like he’s making excuses to the Paramedic, but he’s able to slip past and Eddie collides with him.

“Eddie,” Buck half gasps, half laughs into his shoulder.

Fingers twist into the back of Eddie’s sweater and he can feel Buck’s knuckles against his spine. Eddie’s arms band around him wherever he can reach, a hand firm at the back of Buck’s neck and he doesn’t even really care that he’s curling himself around him or what it looks like. Buck seems to be far from arguing; he’s always been taller, but right now it doesn’t feel that way, the exhale of Eddie’s name turning to a thick whine as he folds himself as close as he can get. He’s holding on just as fiercely and Eddie loses track of who’s heartbeat he can feel hammering against his breastbone like a rock on sheet metal.

Eddie tries to breathe, but his lungs won’t expand properly. He ends up letting the air out instead, a shaky, fragile thing expelled under Buck’s hands. “You’re okay?” He asks, muffled against Buck’s - his - collar.

Buck nods without lifting his head. He’s so warm and it’s hard to tell what’s just his natural body heat and what might still be spilling off of him from the fire. “I’m really tired of not running into certain danger with you,” Buck says. “Sucks not knowing who’s got your back.”

The words spill down the side of Eddie’s neck and pool in the hollow of his throat, heavy and rich like molten gold.

“Yeah,” he replies tightly, “Kinda done with not having yours.”

“You kinda did.” Buck’s voice is touched with humour and he shrugs, just a little, then twists his fingers tighter - a clear signal the shrug wasn’t about being let go. What it does is make the borrowed turnout rustle loudly under Eddie’s hands.

Eddie scoffs, tugging at a fistful of the bulky fabric. “Watching your back is a lot to ask of a jacket.”

Buck laughs - and then he starts coughing.

Eddie finally loosens his hold, forcing himself to let go enough that he can set both his hands on Buck’s shoulders instead. The coughs wrack through him, trembling, viscid things and for a fluttering, terrifying moment, Eddie is flung back several months to the party at Athena’s. That was the last time Buck had started coughing uncontrollably, and it had almost killed him.

His heart is threatening to scatter into uneven, tachy beats, and he knows it won’t happen, but he feels like he’s waiting for the coughs to bring up blood. It’s not another embolism. It can’t be; Buck’s on blood thinners, and either way, Eddie knows what it actually is.

Buck squeezes Eddie’s arm as he sways just a little, and then rubs his jaw.

This close, Eddie can see the irritation around his eyes that makes them all the more blue, but also the pallor under the blackness and the way the redness in his skin is streaked and blotchy; it’s not from heat or monoxide, but there is smoke in his lungs.

“You’re not okay,” Eddie says.

Buck’s fingers curl around Eddie’s sleeves instead, probably reflex, seeking some kind of balance as he tries to stem the coughs. “Just-Just a bit of- inhalation,” he says finally.

“Just a-  _ Dios- _ ” Logically Eddie knows there’s no way Buck didn’t get a mask at some point - probably a spare off one of the other responders he found. He wouldn’t be sat here now with just mild symptoms if he’d been breathing in the fumes all that time. What Eddie doesn’t know is how long he was already there before anyone was able to get him one.

“I’m okay, Eddie,” Buck says. “I improvised a b-bit, found one of the first teams in-- there, they got me covered. I had this-” he shrugs again, elbows up to highlight the jacket “-I’m okay.”

“Were you in it?”

This, finally, Eddie needs to know.

It’s not information he could deal with earlier, but now he needs it. There’s a difference. First responder or not, it’s different, when the emergency happens around you and you’re not running towards it. One of them you can emotionally brace for; you sign up for it, and everything that happens after. The other you don’t. The other makes you a victim of circumstance even if it doesn’t put you in a hospital or leave the kind of damage that’s harder to see.

One option makes Buck a consenting participant in everything that happened today, the other does not, and he doesn’t deserve another thing to have to fight through.

Buck breathes out slowly, the bout of coughing seemingly over, and his fingers press tighter into the inside of Eddie’s elbow. It’s hard to tell who’s grounding who now.

“I was down the street,” he says, voice scratching. “I-uh-I was actually at that craft place.”

“Craft?” Eddie frowns, blinking. The hobby store? How is that-

“Carla texted me and I was down there right after my PT session picking up something for Christopher. I was outside the bakery when it all started. I saw it. The noise was- anyway.” Buck fixes his eyes back on Eddie, earnest and seeking. His hands reach, curling into Eddie’s sweatshirt. He knows there’s a difference too. “I went back inside, Eddie. I chose this.”

It sparks a rush of relief so sharp and wild that it’s almost vicious, spreading through Eddie’s bloodstream like lit kerosene. He finds his hands curled around Buck’s neck, thumbs in the hollow below his jaw. “You…”

“I know,” Buck says, airless, impossibly still and warm. His pulse drums slick and fast against Eddie’s wrists. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re a good firefighter,” Eddie corrects him, even though his throat is still thick. “But now you need to take it easy. And get a mask on.”

“I’ve been wearing one since I got out,” Buck says. He lets go of Eddie’s arm to thumb behind them at the ambulance. “They’ve checked me over, I just need to do a few more BP tests. I’d be the lowest priority right now if I wasn’t a firefighter.”

“Okay, come on-” Eddie releases him, starting to steer him back towards the ambulance instead.

Buck frowns, even though he moves without protest. He gestures vaguely behind Eddie’s head. “Don’t you have t-”

“Nope.”

Buck blinks, and then ducks his head, nods as he bites down a searing, fragile smile.

They get two more steps before-

“Oh-wait-” he stops suddenly, and then shrugs out of Eddie’s turnout jacket. “You should-”

Eddie wants to find a reason he should keep it, just for a little longer, but his brain isn’t working fast enough for that. He’s about to take it just for having no better excuse when it stops mattering entirely.

There’s white gauze and tape on both of Buck’s arms. 

There’s a long one down the outside of his right forearm, and a square pad just below the inside of his left elbow. Both of them are already staining through; streaks of too-vivid red, blossoming like opening flowers.

Before he quite knows he’s doing it, Eddie is tossing his jacket aside, reaching out instead. His fingers curl around Buck’s wrists and turn them up, the gauze blinding under the sun.

“Oh,” Buck exhales softly.

He goes instantly still while his pulse leaps, settling into a hectic flutter under Eddie’s hands.

For a second, there’s instinctive panic as Eddie runs every moment back in his brain, second guessing it - did he hug him too tightly, hold on too long, break open stitches? But the panic burns out. He didn’t cause this. They were already there and he doesn’t remember any sign of pain. He remembers Buck holding on right back like he’d fall apart if he let go.

Eddie had forgotten until now that Castillo had told him Buck was bleeding. That was a while ago - are these the same ones, or is he injured anywhere else?

Eddie wants to ask him what happened, to ask how bad it is, if he does have stitches or if there are others, but he bites his tongue and forces all the questions down. Buck doesn’t owe him the answers.

“This is-” He stops, swallows, tries again. “You are okay, though?”

Buck’s eyes lift from where they’ve been fixed on his own wrists to settle on Eddie and-

Okay.

There’s something kind of new and kind of old there, something bone deep and quiet. It’s fragile as it settles, but there’s something certain in the weight of it; like learning as a child how gravity works, and realising it’s never going to not be there, no matter how many times you test it.

Buck doesn’t move, his pulse spreading under Eddie’s hands like rippling water, and something feels inevitable.

He clears his throat and his voice comes out low, scraped raw at the edges. “I swear, I’m okay.”

Eddie nods and makes himself let go, again, nudging him towards the ambulance. Buck sits back down just as he starts a new round of coughing. There’s a charcoal smear blotting out half the birthmark on his brow and his chest is wracked with gritty shudders as he reaches for the oxygen mask on the bumper beside him. Eddie takes a much needed step away, rubbing roughly at his jaw to try to shake off the weird knot of tension that’s fixed around his neck and shoulders.

The coughs slow up again. It doesn’t take so long or seem so brutal, probably because Buck’s not talking through it and actually breathing filtered air. Finally, he sighs slowly and tips his head back into the sun. He lowers the mask and his throat works as he swallows harshly.

“Mask,” a new voice barks almost instantly, and Buck startles. Eddie’s eyes dart up.

The paramedic has returned. He looks barely thirty and has a mop of honey blond hair which is offset by the firm, mildly exasperated look on his face. He’s also conveniently appeared right now, when Buck’s just recently sat back down. It’s possible he was watching them, waiting to move in again, but Eddie can’t summon up any feeling of mortification at the thought. 

If Buck has come to a similar conclusion over his quick re-appearance, it doesn’t bother him, either. He rolls his eyes and lifts the mask again, taking an obedient and slightly sarcastic deep inhale.

“Good, keep it up,” the paramedic says flatly.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek against a smile and Buck shoots him a mock scowl.

“Joe, this is Eddie,” Buck says, behind the mask. “Can you tell him I’m fine?”

“He’s fine,” Joe repeats, monotone. “Where’s your sister?”

“Right here!”

Maddie appears in the next instant, out of breath as she dashes up to them from around an ambulance further down. She stops next to Joe, shoving her phone into her pocket before she seems to spot Eddie.

“Oh, thank god,” she says, eyes watering as she reaches out to give him a brief hug. “Sorry I didn’t call - I gave one of the medics my phone so they could get through to the hospital - I only just got it back and-”

“It’s okay,” Eddie tells her. He’s too relieved to care. Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t see Buck until now, anyway. Which reminds him- “You know Chim’s safe, right?”

Maddie breathes out shakily. “I-I mean. He texted earlier so I knew but...a lot can happen in a few minutes, right? So...thanks. Now maybe you can convince  _ him _ he needs to actually be cleared.”

She jabs a thumb at Buck.

Buck gives her the most withering sibling-specific look Eddie’s ever seen. “I’ve been sitting here since you showed up,” he protests. “I got up  _ once _ -”

“Twice,” Maddie points out. “You got changed-”

“-And,” Buck continues as though he hasn’t heard, “at least you got your phone back.”

“Well you lost yours because you ran into a building on fire with no back up or equipment,” Maddie says, just slightly sharp. It’s clearly still too fresh for her to not be a little upset about that even as she rolls her eyes.

Buck’s breathing hitches, conflict in his face. He doesn’t want to hurt her, hates that he might have, but he won’t apologise either, not when he has no regrets. He sighs and turns to the paramedic. “I’m starting to feel ganged up on. It’s just mild inhalation, right, Joe?”

“Right,” Joe agrees glibly. “As well as a bunch of bruises and bandages.”

But then he turns to address them as well, and his false, exasperated cheer levels into sincerity. “He is fine. He wouldn’t even have needed the gauze if it weren’t for the thinners. No stitches and so long as he keeps the pressure on a bit longer, they should seal up fine. They’re minor; scrapes more than actual cuts. Shouldn’t even be any scarring.”

“Thank god,” Maddie murmurs. Her fingers press to her mouth and she darts a teary look at Buck. He smiles gently at her, reassuring and soft- and then pointedly sucks in a deep breath through the mask when Joe looks back at him.

Eddie is so fond of him that it almost hurts.

Joe continues, “I can clear him as a patient, but he does need to take it easy for at least a couple of days. Nothing that can cause shortness of breath for twenty four hours, no second-hand smoke, and also avoid any air extremes; cold, dry, humid, stuff like that. You might need to keep lights low for a bit to help with any lingering eye irritation. Mostly-” Joe shoots Buck a firm look “-Rest. Sleep sitting up a bit until the cough eases.”

“Right, uh- How long- A few days?” Maddie asks.

“Just a day or so,” Joe shrugs. “I’m not worried. If there’s any shortness of breath, chest pain, or if headaches persist then you should get checked out but...considering how long you were in there...you’re damn lucky. I do think-” Joe shoots a look around the three of them “-that he shouldn’t be alone for the next couple of days. Sometimes symptoms don’t give you much warning. Best to be safe.”

“Uh-I live alone,” Buck inserts, pulling the mask down again. “It’s okay - I know the drill. I can-”

“He won’t be,” Eddie interrupts. Joe darts him a look that seems to say ‘I don’t pity you that argument.’

Buck inhales, lifts his whole chest with it- and then evidently decides he doesn’t know what to say to that. He deflates in almost the same instant.

“I have a night shift at the Dispatch,” Maddie says.

Eddie turns to her, right as her eyes scoot away from Buck’s narrowed ones. She presses her lips together, wrings her hands and shrugs. The smile of apology on her face is...strange. “Last minute cover for Josh. So…”

Eddie may not know all her ticks the way Buck or Chimney do, but she shares some traits with her brother, and some are just universal.

She’s lying.

Eddie’s sure of it, and going by the intent look on Buck’s face, hectic colour rising across his cheekbones, he knows it, too.

Eddie said he wasn’t going to make any first moves, not right now, but he’s not stupid enough to pass up the opening Maddie is quite literally handing him.

“You’re coming home with us,” Eddie says, turning to Buck. “Or, actually, we’re coming home with you.”

Maddie unsuccessfully tries to smother a smile.

Buck’s eyes are fixed on Eddie with a breakable kind of hope and an unvoiced question. It’s not an ‘are you sure?’ It’s a pretty clear ‘you know she’s lying, right? Not going to call that out?’

Nope, he’s not.

“That okay?” he asks instead.

Buck blinks, his mouth soft and lax for a moment before he seems to startle. His tongue rolls across his lip and his voice is a little torn, still hopeful when he asks, “We?”

Eddie’s heart feels like it’s beating in his throat, twisted into a knot. That thread of hope might be capable of breaking him apart. “Christopher, too,” Eddie replies, and watches Buck light up.

He’s so fucked.

Buck coughs roughly, takes two more hits through the mask and then asks, “Why-why mine?”

Eddie isn’t sure which answer is best. Something familiar is more likely to help after the chaos, but at this point, it’s not like his home is unknown territory to Buck. Hell, Buck knows his kitchen better than he does. They don’t have a spare bed, though. The couch won’t help if he has bruises and other aches and pains coming out and offering the bed feels too dangerous to be an option. Instead, he goes for a lesser truth, but one harder to argue.

“I know how your AC system works and we can set it in your place way easier than mine. Nothing too cold or dry, remember?”

Buck tries to laugh and ends up in a new coughing fit. He curls forwards again, back over the mask to ride it out and Eddie catches Maddie and Joe sharing a knowing look. He’s starting to think he should resign himself to seeing a lot more of those.

.

It’s almost another half an hour before Bobby finds them.

Maddie insists she’s not going anywhere, and sits down next to Buck holding two bottles of water, so Eddie reluctantly heads off to see where he can help.

Most of the critical cases have been dealt with already; ambulances taking them directly to waiting surgery rooms while a few are being treated on the roadside with what they have to make them stable for the next returning bus. There’s a white tent set up between two of the firetrucks where it’s as hidden as possible from the ends of the road. A few of the casualties have been moved there after calling time of death. Thankfully, not many body bags line the ground inside.

Most of what remains are the stragglers from the yellow triage mat, and the mild cases on the green. Many of them have bypassed shock at this point and are now either brushing it off as a flesh wound (“Ma’am, this isn’t Monty Python, you have a head injury that was bleeding for at least an hour. I need you to sit down”) or crying that they’re going to lose a limb (“No, Sir, you won’t lose it, but you will need antibiotics”).

Eddie pitches in where he can, and keeps half an eye out for Hen when he spots her lending just one hand to a couple of other paramedics.

He helps load someone into an ambulance and is startled away from it just as it starts off down the street, sirens screaming.

“Hey,” Bobby says, hand on his shoulder.

“Bobby,” Eddie exhales. “It’s all clear?”

“Yep. It’s a mess but it’s clear. Police can get in to start doing their jobs and find out what the hell happened.”

“There’ll be an investigation?” Eddie checks. Of all the buildings-

It’s not Bobby who answers, though.

“You can bet your ass there’ll be an investigation.”

Eddie leans around Bobby. Athena is catching up to them, expression almost scary, enough to send at least three people scuttling out of her way. It’s only when she stops close by that it’s possible to see the tension in her mouth and the softness in her eyes is from worry.

“It’s the LAFD, it should never have happened. You okay?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Yeah I’m- what about you? Both of you?”

Athena waves a hand. It doesn’t shake, but some of the tightness in her expression gives her away instead. “We’re fine. What about Buck?”

Eddie’s heart flips over.

There’s some kind of freedom in compartmentalising; he can put away everything else, mute the volume, and turn all of his mind onto his job. Buck’s name is like surfacing after a deep sea mission.

“He’s fine - safe - He’s with Maddie,” Eddie turns to indicate up the road where he was being monitored and then decides he’s going with them. “Come on.”

Buck lurches up off the collapsible stool they’ve given him when he sees Bobby. Eddie folds his arms like he’s trying to hold his heart in place as Bobby jogs the last few metres to Buck and rocks them sideways with the force of his hug.

Buck is still coughing; an equally syrupy and rattling thing that’s trying to bring up the silt in his lungs, but he smiles at Bobby in abject relief before folding Athena into a hug, too. His bandages have been redone, and these ones haven’t started to bleed through yet. The soot on his face and neck is gone, like someone gave him a washcloth, though some of the redness still lingers in streaks.

Chimney found Maddie, and they’re both talking with their heads low, tilted close together in the shadow of the ambulance. It would make a kind of cute picture, if Chimney didn’t have a bandage on his temple and black marks across the bridge of his nose.

Eddie takes one anyway.

Then Chimney drops a gentle kiss on Maddie’s forehead before she turns and makes her way towards Eddie.

“Hey,” she says. She doesn’t ask if he’s okay, just squeezes his arm in wordless solidarity of some sort. “I’ll be with him until your shift’s over. I’ll take him back to my place, make sure he rests, that there’s no other symptoms.”

“Thought you were working!” Buck shouts around Athena, right before dissolving into another cough. Bobby rubs his back, helping him sit down again with a fondly exasperated look.

Maddie flushes, but there’s also no remorse in it. She swallows and tosses her head to shake her hair over her shoulders. “My shift doesn’t start until nine.”

“Convenient,” Eddie mutters.

Maddie shoots him a sideways look that’s just sly enough to make his heart drop a whole beat. She says, “You’re welcome.”

She turns to walk away, and Eddie finds himself thinking about the handfuls of phone calls late at night; listening to Buck on the end and learning to recognise the shifts in his voice to know if he’s slept or not, if he will, or if he won’t. Eddie won’t have to rely on a phone call tonight to know if he’s okay and it’s like learning he won’t have to hold his breath.

“Maddie,” Eddie calls after her, waits until she spins to him. “Thank you.”

.

“It’s time to go,” Bobby says not even fifteen minutes later. He sounds as reluctant as Eddie feels when he hears it, but the road is mostly cleared up, only a few vehicles left and more PD squad cars gathering in the area than ambulances. They’re done here. It’s the job, and Eddie knows it. So does Buck.

He nods at them as Bobby starts herding them back towards the ladder truck, and then turns to Maddie and rolls his eyes when she hands him another water bottle. He doesn’t look back again, and Eddie gets that.

He’s not sure he’d want to watch them drive away without him, either.

.

He texts Carla not long after.

Hen hasn’t come with them; she was sent off home with her arm freshly bandaged and instructions not to come back in until she was ready. The cab of the truck is thick with an exhausted kind of quiet as they get back on the road so Eddie pulls out his phone. Carla will be worried, too - he’s figuring that by now, the fire will have been aired all across the news. Vaguely he wonders if Taylor Kelly got to report on it and then realises it doesn’t matter if she did. Even if she was there, looking for an in, she never went after Buck for it and that’s all Eddie has the room to care about.

18:17pm   
Buck’s okay. Im assuming you heard?

There’s three little dots flickering in the bottom of the screen almost the instant he sends it.

Carla 18:17pm   
Thank heaven. You seen him? Not just passing me hearsay?

Carla 18:17pm   
I was just about to call you

Eddie finds himself smiling at it.

18:18pm   
Seen him. Mild inhalation. Hes got a cough and a few instructions for a couple of days.

He sends her that and then hovers, thumbs over his screen as he tries to work out how to phrase the next bit.

Are you and Chris busy- no. He backspaces that.

Hes not allowed to be alo- no, not that either.

Carla replies while he’s deliberating.

Carla 18:19pm   
Inhalation? He cant be alone with that. Where is he?

And it turns out she’s given him an opening.

18:19pm   
Hes with Maddie right now but shes working tonight so im taking him home later and sticking around.

This time, it takes a minute before the dots appear again.

Carla 18:21pm   
I’ll call Howard. I can watch Christopher tonight

Eddie almost drops the phone with how quickly he starts typing. It says something that Chimney barely darts him a look before his head thumps back against his seat again.

18:21pm   
No hes coming too

He sends it, then breathes and tries again, but when he’s staring at the letters on the keyboard, he just doesn’t know where to start. Clearly no one cares enough to listen in too hard, though, so Eddie sighs and tugs off his headset, thumbing the call button.

Carla picks up barely after it’s started ringing and Eddie wonders if she was staring at his last text just waiting for an incoming explanation.

“You doing a family night, Boo?” she says in lieu of a hello.

“Something like that,” Eddie replies, just loud enough to hear himself over the roar of road noise and engine power. “I’m going to take Christopher, we’re both going to camp out and keep an eye on him. Just- earlier there was- I think Buck wants to see him - and this, after everything over the summer...I don’t want Christopher to be worried either. Does he know yet?”

“No,” Carla says. “He was still in school when it all kicked off. I picked him up a few hours ago and kept all the news channels off.”

Thank god for her, really.

“You want to tell him?”

Eddie knows he doesn’t have time right now, but he doesn’t want to leave him in the dark for hours still.

“Could-I’m sorry, but could you-”

“Yeah, of course,” Carla says gently. “All of it?”

“Tell him what happened, that we’re all fine and that we’re staying at Buck’s so he should pack a bag.” Eddie bites his lip and then adds, “And...Buck’s with Maddie until I get off shift. Maybe call her and see if he’s up for it but Chris might want to see him, if you’re alright going over there?”

“Please,” Carla scoffs. “Buckaroo will want to see him, too, no question. I’ll tell Chris what happened and then we’ll drive over. I wanna see for myself they did him right anyway, so you just try and stop us. Between the three of us he’ll be glad to escape when you’re ready to get him.”

Eddie exhales an airy laugh that’s lost in the roar of the road. Buck will be antsy and fed up probably already, if Maddie’s fussing earlier is enough of an indication. The amusement in that is the only Karma that Eddie wants to entertain, though. Buck isn’t just a firefighter on paper, or on the clock; it’s who he is at heart and Eddie’s always known that. He wants him to have more to live for outside of it, to value himself even when the uniform is stripped away, but his heart isn’t something Eddie ever wants to see change.

“He went in on instinct,” Eddie says, and he’s not too sure it’s loud enough to be heard. “He misses his job and he could have stood back, or walked away, but he ran in there to help before anyone else could get there. It’s who he is. Just...don’t give him too hard a time?”

Carla is quiet on the other end for a moment. Eddie hears the white noise in his head louder than the ambient sounds of the truck. Then she inhales softly, a tremor in it, and he wonders if she’s crying.

“This is all I wanted for him, you know?” she replies. “Someone to love him for exactly who he was and see the parts he couldn’t.”

There’s a pause; easy and weightless, just for the span of two heartbeats.

Then Eddie says, “You say that, but if he was hospitalised again, I’d be pissed at him.”

Carla laughs, gathering herself together enough to scoff at him. “Oh hush. You’d be worried but you still wouldn’t have tried to tell him he shouldn’t have done it.” Honestly, Eddie doesn’t really want to think about what he might have done. Carla continues without needing an answer, back to seriousness, “I’ll go tell Christopher what happened, and we’ll pack a bag and his school things for tomorrow.”

Eddie hadn’t even thought about tomorrow, yet, or school. “Thank you.” 

Carla hums at him. “I got your boys, go finish up and get back here safe, okay?”

Eddie knows better than to promise in their line of work, but he agrees all the same.

.

Eddie feels like he’s been awake for three straight days when Maddie opens her door and steps back to let him inside. He ducks through the doorway with a smile of thanks and blinks in the warm, dimmed lights of the hall.

“Dad!”

The last reserves of adrenaline flutter in Eddie’s bloodstream and he smiles as Christopher comes stumbling through the door with his arms out. Eddie scoops him up, hugging him tightly and breathing him in. Some of the exhaustion of the long shift finally melts down, not pressing quite so insistent on the inside of his skull where it was threatening a headache.

“Hey, kid,” he says, adjusting Christopher’s weight on his hip so he can look at him. “You had a good day?”

“It was fun,” Christopher nods, fingers twisting into Eddie’s collar. Behind them, Maddie smiles fondly and shuts the door on the evening air. She cuts past to lead them down the hall while Christopher fills Eddie in on the drama between his classmates. In the living room, Eddie sets him back down.

There’s a ceramic pumpkin sitting on the brick fireplace surround, and orange lights twined with plastic maple leaves drape over the mantelpiece. A black cat silhouette decal has been stuck to the window and Hocus Pocus is playing on the TV, though no one seems to be watching. Carla is curled in an armchair with a copper coloured velvet blanket spread over her legs and Buck is sat on the floor in front of the couch cradling a mug.

Christoher’s school books are spread out on a low coffee table, and Chris ambles over to Buck who holds out a hand to help him settle on the rug beside him. Christopher folds himself there happily, easily getting comfortable like he’s been sitting there for a while before Eddie arrived.

“Cold tea,” Buck says, waving the mug up at Eddie as soon as Christopher is steady. “I’m not even allowed it hot.”

Maddie sighs reflexively. “It’s lukewarm. No temperature extremes, remember. It’s just for a day or so - stop being a baby.”

Buck pouts at her and then takes another sip of his tea with his face scrunched up. Carla muffles a giggle into her own cup as it steams unapologetically into the air.

“I’m going mad,” Buck whines. He considers his mug once more then sets it down and pushes it gingerly away by the coaster.

Christopher lifts one of his books - thankfully not a math one - and holds it out to Buck. “Can you check this, please, Buck?”

“Of course I can,” Buck replies, with great dramatics. He leans forward, smiling, his hand tousling through Christopher’s hair absently as he pulls the book over. In an instant, all the theatrics seep straight out of him; his spine softens, his shoulders relaxing, and he lets his mind actually absorb itself into whatever Christopher’s written.

Their heads bow close together, Buck nods here and there, and Christopher sways happily, smiling every time Buck does.

“Take a picture,” Maddie mutters into Eddie’s ear as she steps around him. “It’ll last longer.”

Eddie isn’t about to admit how tempted he is.

“Have you been doing homework?” he asks, not entirely sure if he’s asking Buck or Chris as he sits down in a free chair.

Christopher nods. Buck lifts his eyes to shoot a dry look over the top of the book. “Christopher is the only person here on my side,” he says, before going right back to reading. 

Christopher beams, eyes squinted behind his glasses like this is the highest compliment the world has to offer. Eddie’s heart is beating through a vice, leaving bruises on his ribs as blazing affection bleeds out of him like an open artery.

Maddie straightens some cushions on the couch and then picks up her own empty mug, heading for the kitchen with it. She pauses in the doorway and looks back at them.

“Are you staying for dinner? I was going to put something in the oven.”

“Uh-” Eddie glances across at Buck and Christopher, not too sure what the right answer is. Both of them look up at him. “I thought we’d just get going?” he says, like it’s a question, and thankfully neither of their faces drop. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” Maddie says, shaking her head to waive off any need to justify it. “Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, though,” Eddie adds. And then, because he’s tired and there’s reckless brightness burning in his veins, he says, “Besides, if you cook for us you’ll be late for your shift.”

It’s already almost eight thirty and Maddie doesn’t look like someone getting ready to leave the house for a nine at night shift. Eddie is pretty sure the striped pants she’s wearing are actually flannel pyjamas.

Buck’s head shoots up over to Maddie with an exaggerated ‘oooooh’ expression that lifts his eyebrows and rounds his mouth into a perfect O.

Maddie looks between them for a second, then tosses her hair back with a shake of her head. “Wine,” she says, decisively. “I need wine.” And she disappears into the kitchen.

Carla lifts a delicate eyebrow over the rim of her mug. “Am I missing something?”

Eddie shoots her a smile and shakes his head. “You can ask her all about it. How about you two? Ready to go?”

Buck’s expression glows as he turns to look at Christopher. “What do you think?”

“We’re really going home with Buck?” Chris asks Eddie.

“Yep,” Eddie answers. “But you’re not staying up much later; you have school in the morning.”

Christopher pulls a face but starts moving his books back into his bag without trying to argue it. Eddie’s sure he’ll give it a go when they’re actually at Buck’s and he’s being made to settle down.

His bag will be chaos in the morning to re-pack so he can find anything when he gets to school, but Eddie wants to leave more than he wants to organise it now. That can be a problem for future Eddie.

Buck reaches for his mug, apparently on autopilot, because as soon as he’s raised it and likely felt the lack of heat through the ceramic, he grimaces again and puts it right back down.

Maddie ducks back around the doorway just as he’s pushing it further away across the table. “Hey, Eddie - Can I borrow you?”

Eddie shrugs and stands up, moving towards her and feeling Buck’s eyes catch on his back as he goes. Maddie leads him into the kitchen and then points him over at the table. The only thing on it is a large cardboard box that looks packed solid, tape holding the flaps down.

“It’s my air mattress,” she says, just before Eddie gets close enough to read the label.

In fact, the label says it’s a paddling pool so that could have been more confusi-

-And then the words actually filter through his head and make sense. Eddie hadn’t even stopped to think about the sleeping part of the plans. He’s not fully sure he will sleep even though he’s been going for over twenty four hours. He’s tired, but his mind is still turning right at the back of his head on messing with Buck’s AC settings and making sure no other symptoms crop up before tomorrow.

“Right,” he says blankly. “I didn’t- Thank you.”

“I mean unless you were planning on...not needing it,” Maddie says, swinging a glass of wine in a circle that manages to be full of implication. Eddie didn’t even see her pour it out.

And then those words make sense, too. He rubs at his jaw, feeling heat flash under his skin.

“Uh-no. No, I-”

(Whatever else he wants, whatever other thoughts he’s had, none of them have factored in tonight. He doesn’t have room for those when he’s too focused on the gauze on Buck’s arms, the memory of soot over his birthmark and the way his voice tears after the coughing).

Maddie giggles quietly and sets down her glass. “Sorry. I’m just...giving you a hard time.”

“So...you know, then,” he says without needing to make it a question.

Maddie gives him a faint look of apology. “Kinda. I do now. It was a little bit obvious. To me, anyway.”

Eddie snorts. “You and everyone else. But it’s not really...like that.”

Maddie, for the first time, looks surprised. She blinks rapidly and her fingers stop turning the stem of her wine glass. “It’s...not?”

“Well, it is,” Eddie amends, flustered. “Just...for me.”

(Is it? It sits at the back of his mind as a whisper. Maybe not. He remembers that gravity in Buck’s eyes, the leap of his heartbeat between Eddie’s fingers. Maybe it’s more than him).

He’s too tired to really have this conversation, and he doesn’t think he’s making sense, but somehow Maddie seems to understand.

“For y-Eddie, does he know?” She says it in a hushed voice, shooting a quick glance at the kitchen doorway. Eddie follows her gaze, but it’s empty, and there’s a buzz of chatter and coughing from beyond that says the others are still planted in the living room. “That you…”

She tails off, and Eddie wonders if it’s because she feels awkward or whether she just doesn’t want to choose the words for him.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly. It’s been months of their lives slowly blending together, and a few weeks since the grocery store when he was struck with how much more he actually wanted from that. He’s not made any huge effort since then to act like it isn’t there; a constant that pulses in his blood and lives in his bones.

Buck might know.

“It’s not important,” Eddie shrugs. “It’s- it’s a one day, you know? I’m not going anywhere and right now he’s my best friend and I care that he’s okay.”

Maddie swills her glass again, eyes dewy and soft. “Well then, the airbed is all yours. Buck used it when he crashed here last year and that’s why I bought it anyway, so it’s out of a job. It might be better off at his place.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. She’s probably right; if he sleeps over at Buck’s place much more, he was going to have to think of buying one. He picks it up from the table and steadies it’s weight as he turns to Maddie.

She plucks up her wine glass and skips ahead of him back to the doorway.

“Well. Time to go and get ready for my ‘shift’,” she says, throwing an air quote at him.

Eddie snorts but he’s serious when he says a quiet “Thank you” as he crosses the kitchen. It’s for more than the airbed, and maybe more than the lie, too. Maddie just shrugs.

“He’d rather be with you two but he wouldn’t have asked. Go; take him home.”

.

“Christopher - hold up - careful with the stairs!”

Christopher slows down but he doesn’t stop, still gripping the banister up to Buck’s loft and taking all the steps right foot first. His backpack full of clothes and books and his toothbrush is still over his shoulder. He’s headed straight for the bathroom because Eddie said if he was ready for bed before nine thirty he can sit on the air mattress while it inflates.

“Let me take it,” Buck says, knocking on the airbed box Eddie’s carrying.

Eddie twists to keep it away from him. “Nothing that can cause shortness of breath,” he reminds, having only a little fun with it.

Buck splutters, affronted and amused. “You think I’m that unfit? Eddie, it’s a box.”

Eddie sets it on the kitchen counter, and then lets the flight bag over his shoulder drop to the floor.

“Alright, fine,” Buck says, and he heads for the stairs. “You hang out here with your box and I’ll go hang out with Christopher.”

Shaking his head against a laugh, Eddie watches him go and his heart aches and aches.

.

By the time Eddie gets out of the shower last, Christopher is sprawled out on the airbed behind the couch in the living room, fast asleep. The couch itself has been folded out as well, and blankets laid out.

“Nothing that can cause shortness of breath,” Eddie says pointedly, nodding at the airbed as he sinks down onto his usual spot.

The tv is playing almost silently and most of the lights in the apartment are off. Just a couple of lamps cast the room in a dim orange glow that catches in the brickwork and clashes against the blue pallor of moonlight through the windows. They’re four floors up and the world outside the thick factory walls is almost silent.

Buck gives him a withering look. “Ed, it has a pump.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says, tipping his head back against the cushions. There’s that nickname again; too small to put this much pressure on his chest. “What’s your excuse for the couch?” Because he knows that is a manual unfold only.

Buck opens his mouth, stalls as he realises he likely has no excuse, and then shuts it again. Eddie snorts. There’s a momentary pause, and it’s thick with wry amusement before Buck’s elbow nudges into his ribs. Eddie’s been tired for hours, but he’s not ready to sleep; he wants to keep an eye on Buck for just a little bit longer, as long as he can get away with.

So he reaches for the remote and thumbs the volume up on the tv just a little - just enough to hear - and sinks back into the pillows with Buck to watch.

  
  


Eddie blinks awake in the dark.

There’s no screams, no shuffling footsteps down the hall, no sign that anything in the world is wrong at all, and for a moment, Eddie can’t work out why he’s awake. The lamps are off - both plugged in on timer switches, Eddie well knows - and the tv has timed out, too; tiny little pulses bursting here and there on the screen like phantom fireworks. He doesn’t even know how late (or early) it is. His phone isn’t with him; he left it on the kitchen table before he went to borrow the shower and then-

Then he fell asleep.

There’s a kink in his neck that’s probably going to be stiff in a few hours. He’s still sitting up, blankets across his legs, and Buck-

Buck is still there.

It’s hard to work out how he didn’t notice that straight away, but even now, something about the sleep-warm weight leaning into him, Buck’s head resting on his shoulder, feels so normal that it doesn’t even stand out. The apartment is so quiet, and that’s when Eddie registers that he can hear Buck’s breathing catch; little ragged snags in his airway.

Moments after realising it - before he’s had time to debate over what to do - Buck coughs and it wakes him up. He moves, half asleep but broken out of dreams and curls forwards, t-shirt pulled taut across his back and shoulders flinching with each heave of breath.

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, yawning and getting up. “Water. Come on. Then go to bed.”

Buck only protests a little bit. He takes the glass of water Eddie carefully hands him and obediently drinks until the coughs let up. Then Eddie nods at the loft. Buck goes, hesitating at the foot of the stairs and casting a strange look at the couch, almost mournful, wistful like he’s losing something. With a sigh, a stolen smile, and a quiet ‘night’, he heads up to bed leaving Eddie at the foot of the stairs feeling like he understands that wistfulness a little too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this turn out how anyone thought? haha
> 
> Tiny fun fact: I was considering cutting this off right after Eddie's call with Carla and putting the rest into the next chapter, although ever so slightly different. But I really didn't want the same day to carry on for three chapters so ... sorry if this was a lot for anyone but I hope the longer read was okay :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this one! 
> 
> I am now in crazy-overtime at work stage as well as working on another project that has a deadline, so this is a little heads up that the next bit may also have a small wait. I am writing in every free minute I have though, so I don't plan on holding you up too long.
> 
> As for the chapter count...you are all so patient honestly. Another huge sorry there. As it is, I could have done it in 12, but that would mean you don't get this chapter today. So I just decided it was better to cut it here.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Thank you as always for all the incredible love and support for this fic :)

There’s a knock at Buck’s apartment the following morning.

“No pancakes today,  _ mijo _ ,” Eddie is telling Christopher, the both of them sat at the table as Buck rakes a hand through his hair, padding across to answer the door.

“I’m not allowed to inhale any hot air for another thirteen hours,” Buck adds, unlatching the safety chain and pointing at the clock on the wall, as if it wasn’t clear enough he was counting down.

“He’s full of enough of it already,” Eddie adds, sidelong, and Buck throws him a dry look as he pulls open the door. Christopher muffles a smile around his spoon.

“Carla?”

Eddie looks up and Christopher turns from his bowl of cereal. Carla slips in with an airy wave as though they had any idea she was coming.

“How you doing, Buckaroo?”

She folds him into a warm hug and Buck returns it apparently without any upper brain power because he’s still staring at the space she left in the open doorway.

“Uh-Good, I’m good,” he says, and promptly starts coughing. He buries his face into the long sleeve of his henley and almost misses when he goes to push the door shut.

Carla winces, humming with disbelief and turns to Eddie instead.

“He’s fine,” Eddie supplies on cue. “It’s getting better.”

“He slept sitting up, right?” Carla checks.

Eddie finds himself thinking back to the middle of the night, waking up with Buck’s weight on his shoulder in the silky dark, the way he still doesn’t know if he’d have woken him if the coughing hadn’t. A contented kind of warmth slides down his spine and he doesn’t answer.

Buck clears his throat. He’s slightly pink and it could be a blush or the cough; there’s no way to tell. “I slept sitting up,” he says. “Do you want some tea?”

Carla lifts her eyebrows. “Oh. No, Boo. We’re gonna be late if I stop.”

“Late?” Eddie asks. Buck pauses in the middle of opening the fridge and slowly lets it fall closed.

Carla raises both her eyebrows. “You’re on Buck Watch so I came by to take Christopher to school.”

“Hey,” Buck shoots with no real reproach, a smile pulling at his mouth.

Eddie still feels like he’s barely slept, but he got up when his alarm went off so he could be sure to get Chris ready in time to run him all the way across town. There’s something like an unravelling at the base of his spine now Carla is standing here and looking like she won’t take no for an answer.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks anyway.

She scoffs at him. “You’ve probably slept all of five hours. You’re both as bad as each other. Go back to sleep, Eddie. We got this, right Christopher?”

Christopher sighs, dejected, but nods. “Right.”

Carla looks suddenly a little alarmed as she darts Eddie a look. “If this isn’t okay-”

“No, no,” Eddie says wearily. “It’s not that. We had this discussion already this morning.” He twists a little to pointedly include Christopher. “Just because Buck has to take a sick day doesn’t mean he gets to miss school, too. He’s not happy about it, but we’ll be right back as soon as his classes are over.”

Christopher scrunches up his nose and bites at his spoonful of cereal.

“Aww, honey,” Carla says, leaning down by him and touching her thumb to his cheek gently. “It’s not for long.”

Christopher nods, finishes his mouthful and pushes the bowl back. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Of course, Buddy,” Buck tells him over Eddie’s shoulder. “And we’ll come get you later, okay?”

It placates Chris enough that he’s smiling as he lets Carla help shuffle him into his sweater and sneakers. He hugs Buck tightly around the waist at the door, and Eddie figures he can get away with staring because Carla is as well. Buck looks near tearful when Christoper finally lets go, grabs his crutches and starts ambling out down the hall.

“I got him,” Carla says, heading out in his wake. “I’ll text when he’s dropped off. Now go back to sleep. Or something.”

“ _ Dios _ ,” Eddie breathes shaking his head at her. 

Buck bites his lip, his skin flushing again - and that’s definitely not the cough - and closes the door.

.

Eddie sleeps.

He takes the airbed so that the couch can be folded back up and drifts in and out, occasionally finding himself languidly awake with no desire to move. It’s not a deep sleep, but somehow it feels more like actual rest than if he’d stayed out like a log until noon. Instead, he lets the weight sit in his limbs, lets the white space in his head come and go and time on the clock drift.

Buck moves now and then but mostly sits at the kitchen table, folded over a laptop, alternately reading and typing. The LAFD building might be out of commission, but they’ll be fast working on setting up a secondary site to work out of, and getting phone lines rerouted. In the meantime, the investigation is underway and Buck is one of many people who’ll be typing out statements and police reports to help fill in some of the blanks.

At one point he gets up to answer his phone. Based on the context from Buck’s quiet half of the conversation, Eddie thinks it’s Athena. There’s also a moment where he swears under his breath at the laptop screen and then goes to pace the kitchen before getting lost staring at the empty sink. Eddie finds himself drifting off again just as Buck drops back into his seat with renewed vigor.

The morning drips past.

Eddie finally feels truly awake not long after eleven and then it’s easy to lift himself off the deflating air mattress and track through the living room to the kitchen.

Buck looks up when he sees him move.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, leaning away from the laptop and stretching.

Eddie swallows and looks away perhaps a second too late from the way his spine curves over the back of the chair, the vaulted arch of his ribcage lifting an impression into his shirt. 

“Better than on the couch,” he says. The knot at the back of his neck is still there despite shifting to lie flat after Buck went upstairs. It’s the dull kind of ache that persists without really calling attention to itself - at least until Eddie turns too far, and then it throws a warning twinge down his spine, flaring between his shoulder blades. Awesome.

He rubs at it without much hope of it helping. “How’s the cough?”

Buck’s been coping with intermittent bursts of it here and there; some stirring Eddie from sleep and others he may have missed. The air in the apartment has been set right in neutral ground, though, and it seems like it might slowly be easing up.

Buck gestures a little petulantly to the glass of water sat on the table, just out of the spill-radius of the laptop. There’s cucumber slices floating on the top, and Eddie knows well enough by now that it’s to help taint the taste. He still doesn’t like to drink too much plain water if he can help it, and with the cough to soothe, he’s probably had more than enough.

“Going well then,” Eddie comments as he heads to the coffee maker on the counter in the corner. Buck still can’t drink hot liquids for a few more hours at least, so it hasn’t been used yet. Eddie sets about digging in the cupboard for a filter and coffee grounds as it occurs to him- “Have you got any syrup in the medicine cabinet?”

There’s a beat before Buck answers with something like reluctance, “Maddie texted me earlier. She’s going to drop around and bring some.” He makes a pressed noise that trips into a cough. “Not really looking forward to taking it. Does it even work? She’s a nurse - I’m sure she’s said herself it’s mostly a placebo but she sounded like she was going to force feed me.”

Eddie snorts. Somehow he wouldn’t put it past Maddie to try.

He tips the coffee grounds into the paper filter and pieces the machine back together, makes sure the carafe is underneath and then flicks it on at the wall socket. There’s a sympathetic pang at the back of his throat just at the thought of taking cough syrup. Sure, it’s designed to line the throat and repair all the mucous membranes but it’s also thick and sticky and tastes like tar. If you’re lucky.

“Do you have any more of the smoothies Chris has been drinking?” Eddie suggests instead. “Try that first? They’ll taste better anyway.”

Again, there’s a fluttering, off-beat pause before Buck replies.

“Uh-I think so. You think that’s worth a go?”

“Better than medicine, right?” Eddie shoots a wry smile over his shoulder at the table. Buck is watching him, with what looks almost like a frown. He seems puzzled, intent like trying to solve a mystery.

“Right,” he says slowly.

Eddie ducks to check the fridge. Two smoothie bottles are still sat inside; one fresh and unopened, the other still mostly full and probably from just a couple of days ago.

“Orange and Mango or...whatever this one is- Papaya?” Eddie raises his eyebrows at it. “Did you get him to drink this?”

“Eddie,” Buck interrupts, and it’s quiet, more cautious than Eddie’s expecting, not to mention his name, and it makes everything inside him stop. Even his pulse seems to hesitate like it’s not sure what happens next. Buck looks oddly wounded, like he’s waiting for something to drop. “Is that it?”

Eddie sets both the bottles down, frowning. “Is what it?”

Buck frowns again, and his eyes drop to the table. His fingers fidget on the surface, treading along the front rim of the laptop.

“Buck?” Eddie abandons the bottles, ducks around the island and leans on the tucked in chair opposite him. “What’s going on?”

Buck sucks in a breath that almost makes him cough again. His eyes water a little and he pushes his chair back, getting up and pacing across the kitchen with tight, fraught steps.

Eddie waits.

When Buck reaches the stove he turns, falling still the way a rabbit does when it’s looking for an escape route even though headlights are blinding it. He looks trapped somewhere between combative and anxious. A shadow is just starting to come up on the edge of his jaw. It’ll be a bruise by the evening and Eddie wonders how many others he might have accrued yesterday. The long sleeves of his henley hide his forearms and all evidence of the scrapes he sustained but Eddie can imagine they’ve probably started to bruise pretty spectacularly as well.

“So you’re not going to say anything about it - about yesterday?”

Eddie’s heart jumps and his grip on the chair loosens. It’s suddenly kind of hard to draw in breath and his mind backflips, leaving him disoriented. He remembers the heavy turnout jacket under his hands as Buck hugged him like he couldn’t hold his own weight. He remembers Buck’s heartbeat under his fingers, the gravity in the sky of his eyes that said  _ when _ not  _ if _ .

Eddie’s heart is still turning in his chest, a somersault of electrified nerves and terrified want and he  _ doesn’t feel ready. _

He swallows and is just glad when his voice comes out without breaking. “Is there something you want me to say?”

Buck shakes his head and his fingers rifle through his hair. “I don’t know. Just…” He sighs, deflates, sinking against the counter, hip first. “Maddie gave me a hard time about it - going in, sticking around, helping like I was still... I figured you would too, so...do it. Open opportunity.”

Eddie blinks. It’s...not what he expected (feared, hoped) and there’s a moment where the realisation of that just stalls everything else. The buzzing through his bloodstream is smothered out like peat moss on a fire; what rises up in its place is a dark cloud and it takes him a frozen second to realise he’s angry.

He pulls out the chair and drops into it, forcing the irritation down with the side of his fist pressing into the table. He doesn’t have a right to be; whatever that is, it’s between Maddie and Buck. What he does have is this; the ability to take that look off of Buck’s face right now.

“I’m not going to give you a hard time,” he says.

“You’re really not?” Buck’s eyes narrow on him, hopeful and confused.

Eddie leans forward.

“No. Look; Maddie is your sister, and she’s a nurse.” He knows that doesn’t excuse it, but he also doesn’t pretend to understand their relationship in the snarled roots when it comes to this all-consuming protectiveness they have for each other. Eddie witnessed it in Buck last year; the rules he broke and the lines he crossed to find her after she went missing. Perhaps Maddie guards him just as recklessly in her own way, and this is how; watching him walk into a fire without a mask or a team or Eddie at his back, and being mad at him for it.

“I guess it was easy for her to see all the ways it could have been worse,” Eddie suggests. “Or maybe she’s just upset because you’re her brother and she doesn’t want you hurt. People don’t always react well when they’re afraid and we already almost lost you twice this year.”

He includes himself on purpose. It’s not just Maddie who almost lost him.

He looks firmly at Buck, who’s watching him quietly now, a new sort of tenderness in his expression that’s stripped away the defensiveness.

“But,” Eddie allows, “if you don’t count running into the fire in the first place - without a mask - you did everything right. I know what that side of it is like. We wouldn’t have this job if we didn’t run towards the burning buildings when we see one. That didn’t go away just because they put you behind a desk for a few months. Nothing about you changed, Evan.”

Buck sucks in a breath, sharp enough to spike the air, just as the coffee machine light goes out and the rich smell of it, freshly brewed, starts to seep into the air.

Eddie stands up and shrugs a little, trying not to twinge his stiff neck, and also to try to make less of a deal out of it. He hadn’t quite known that Buck’s real name was going to come out of his mouth until he was saying it. There’s sunburst under his skin, lancing and warm. Buck seems far away, his eyes distant, even as they follow Eddie’s path to the cupboard.

“I can’t give you a hard time, and I won’t,” Eddie adds, pouring himself a coffee. “It’s not fair, not when it’s something I’d have done, too.”

Eddie wanders back to the table, sinking down with his hands wrapped around the mug. It takes a long, gentle moment for Buck to reply.

“So you’re not mad at me but you are going to drink that coffee in front of me.”

Eddie smirks. He’s not sure if he feels like he dodged a bullet or if in some odd metaphorical way, it was taken away from him; fired in the opposite direction when he wanted to stand in its path. Either way, this is familiar ground, and it’s a settled, content weight in his bones that makes it easy to shift focus.

He lifts the mug. “Hey, I’m not giving up coffee because you’re still on a time out.”

“That’s cruel,” Buck says, flatly amused. He moves away from the counter, returning to his seat at the table opposite and dropping into it. All signs of his tension and worried puzzlement are gone as he shoots Eddie a theatrically narrowed look. “You’re going to make me watch.”

Eddie sips pointedly. “No one’s making you watch. Don’t you have more reports to log?”

Buck pulls the laptop back over, muttering darkly, “I really should have got a sick day.”

Eddie flicks a thumb at the glass of cucumber water still sitting between them. “I can pour some coffee in that if it’ll help?”

Buck’s face scrunches up in disgust, and then a beat later he darts the glass a more contemplative look. “I’ll save that for after Mads forces cough syrup on me.”

.

Buck has almost stopped coughing by the time they leave his apartment to trek across town and pick up Christopher from school.

“Buck!” Christopher yells the moment he sees them. He waves a goodbye to his friends and speeds up, clattering across the playground to the gates without another glance back. He makes a beeline for Buck, who’s thrown away his mock disgust over Eddie’s radio choices in exchange for a blinding smile.

He moves forward, crouching down just in time to half catch a laughing Christopher as he tries to brake without losing his balance.

“Hey, Buddy,” Buck cheers, setting him upright. “How was school?”

Christopher starts talking; a streaming, happy monologue of the best moments from the time that Tommy tripped over his own backpack before homeroom. Buck nods and reacts to every bit of it, his tall frame folded up on the sidewalk as people cluster and clear out around them.

It occurs to Eddie that he’s not been around before whenever Buck’s picked Christopher up at the end of the day. Buck’s always done it because Eddie’s working. They’ve dropped him off once or twice and it hadn’t even occurred to Eddie that the reverse would feel quite so different.

That’s when Eddie also realises that Buck usually hesitates before doing something with Chris; a sideways glance at Eddie before he responds or agrees to anything, like he wants to be sure he has permission. He didn’t do that today. It’s easy to think that it’s just because the two of them have a routine down from when Buck’s picked him up before. Maybe Buck just didn’t think about it - but no - he’s done it other times recently, too.

Specifically, after yesterday’s fire.

There was the way Buck helped Christopher with his homework, tousling a hand through his hair as they sat on the floor together. Then there was the way he’d simply followed Christopher into the loft to help him brush his teeth and unpack his pyjamas. Buck had set up the airbed and settled him down to sleep, too, while Eddie had been showering off all the soot. Then this morning he had assured Chris they’d both be here to pick him up without shifting into Eddie’s line of sight to check first.

It’s not Buck forgetting to ask; it’s something that Eddie’s been quietly working towards for months, each time he nods a go-ahead and and doesn’t intervene or leaves them together without his influence. He’s trying to encourage them to exist just with each other, even when he’s there. Eddie’s finally seeing it happen; Buck comfortable enough with his place between them that he’ll reach out to Christopher on his own without second guessing if he’s allowed.

Everything in Eddie’s chest feels tight, clamped in a vice, his ribs brittle like they’ll break if he breathes too hard.

He lifts his eyes, searching for air, and spots Annabel across the yard at the school doors. She’s just shooing off one of the straggling kids, holding the door open with a foot, and she looks up in the same instant. She smiles at Eddie, and then her gaze darts down to his side where Eddie can hear Buck and Christopher chatting louder than the rest of the crowd. Annabel’s expression burns bright into fondness before she looks back at him and nods.

The first and only time Eddie met her before, she handed him that picture of himself, Buck and Christopher - the one that now lives on his fridge beside the coloured in sketch of the firetruck. It really sinks in that they know Buck here almost as well as they know Carla. Maybe more. 

Eddie turns away from the door, throwing Annabel a wave and nudges the back of his hand into Buck’s shoulder to get his attention.

“So, neither of you seem to need me here,” he says teasingly to the both of them. “But I have the truck keys, so you ready to go?”

Christopher turns to him, almost dropping a crutch as he reaches out to hug Eddie around the waist. “Hi, Dad,” he says sweetly, muffled into Eddie’s sweater. “We did need you. Buck’s sick - he can’t drive.”

Buck tries to swallow a laugh and ends up coughing again, conveniently as though to demonstrate.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright, come on.”

“Back to Buck’s?” Christopher asks hopefully.

“Yes,” Eddie replies, and Christopher lifts up all through his chest, a smile sparking across his face. “Back to Buck’s. Careful crossing the road, okay?”

.

Eddie wakes up when he hears the tap running.

It’s dark - the middle of the night - and he’s laid out flat on Buck’s pull out couch again. It’s sort of strange, how there’s no moment of disorientation, no foggy haze of sleep still lingering. He just knows he’s awake, half blind in the shadows and inhaling moonlight as he listens to water rushing through the faucet in the kitchen. He twists his neck, the stiffness in it thankfully almost worked out now, and can just make out Buck, stood facing the sink with his arms braced on the edge of the counter. He’s half a silhouette; painted in shades that only exist at one o’clock in the morning, haloed faintly by the silvery light that slices through the shutters. Eddie breathes it in for a moment; Buck’s tall frame, shoulders a firm line and back a sweeping curve through the thin t-shirt he must have pulled on to sleep in.

The stillness isn’t right, though.

There’s waking up in the middle of the night because you’re restless, or thirsty, or you heard something outside. And then there’s this; waking up in the middle of the night because your mind threw you out and it won’t let you back in or you’re too scared to go.

Eddie isn’t sure it’s something Buck wants anyone to see, but he’s awake, and he can’t just lie here and pretend he doesn’t know. It’s not fair to Buck, and he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it. So he pushes himself upright, groaning as his back protests the lack of a proper box-spring mattress (He was used to far worse than Buck’s couch in Afghanistan, but there’s some things he just can’t go back to).

Buck starts, wheeling around, his eyes wide in the dark, almost sheepish - like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. His shirt is loose across his stomach, thin and light-weight, and the short sleeves tell Eddie that he hasn’t put more gauze on his arms. It’s still hard to pick out in the dark what is just shadow and what might be bruising but at least they’re healing. Besides, Eddie isn’t too focused on that so much as the look on his face.

The latter, then; Buck doesn’t want to be asleep again.

It’s at that moment that Eddie’s gaze jumps, at the same time Buck’s does, to Christopher. He’s still dead to the world, his blankets kicked around his legs but his expression peaceful. That’s one less concern. Which means Eddie can turn all his attention to the other.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he offers, in case Buck wants an easy out.

Buck hesitates, looks for a moment like he’ll take it, and then sighs, deflating as he wrenches the faucet fully off and backs away from the sink.

“I did, a bit,” he shrugs. He rubs the nape of his neck and then tips his head back, expelling a hard breath of air like he’s annoyed with himself. “It’s been better but it’s not quite…”

“Makes sense, after the other day,” Eddie says when he tails off. He flicks the blankets off and stands, crossing quietly through the apartment to the kitchen so he can lower his voice. He misjudges in the dark and feels a shockwave ache punch through him as his hip clocks the edge of the table.

Buck winces in sympathy at the hollow sound. “There’s a table there,” he says, smiling weakly despite himself.

“Thanks,” Eddie hisses, trying to bite back the stinging pain of it.

“It’s not the fire,” Buck says quietly then. He takes a step forward, leans on the counter facing Eddie, eyes fever-bright in the dark. “Not like you think. I meant it when I said I chose that. It’s the pier. Still.”

_ Still? _

He tacks that on with spiky edge and there’s a thump as he kicks at the island.

“Hey, that’s not-” Eddie shakes his head and leans against the counter over on his side. “Buck, you almost died. That’s allowed to take time. It doesn’t just go away.”

“That’s just it - It didn’t feel like I almost died,” Buck says. “I know it was bad, but when I remember it, I don’t remember how much blood I lost, or how many times I hit something. I remember looking for Christopher, stopping to help where I could, if I could. I remember being terrified to tell you I’d lost him. It’s messed up in my head and I hate that I’m still dealing with this; with how bad it was when I don’t even remember it like that.”

“That’s what trauma does,” Eddie says, gently. “You know that. And no one is putting pressure on you to be over this, but you.” Buck sighs again, this time a hard sound. Eddie tries another tactic, “What about Chris?”

Buck blinks. “What about him?”

“He’s not over it yet.” Eddie shrugs. “He still gets the nightmares - not as often, but he gets them - he still won’t drink water, and we have to leave early on a Friday because of the sprinklers next door. So what about him? Is he taking too long?”

Buck looks a little bit like Eddie’s slapped him in the face.

“Wha-Edd- No? Jesus,” He erupts, hissing to keep his voice down at the last moment. “Seriously? You can’t compare that. He’s a kid and he should never have been in that situation. But I…”

“Shouldn’t have been in it either,” Eddie reminds him softly. “And that’s not a dig. It’s just the truth; none of the people there that day should have had to experience it. Just because you’re trained for crisis you think you should be immune? That’s not how it works, and you know that, too. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel it when it happens to you. You’re human, Buck.”

Buck sinks against the counter, his weight dropping to his elbows. For a moment Eddie isn’t sure if he’s caving in on himself; if he’s knotting down this burst of irritation to hold onto it the same way someone moors a boat to stop it drifting. But then he nods slowly and some jagged line of tension in his shoulders starts to ease.

When he lifts his gaze again - bold and cautious at once - his eyes are glassy, tearing up as his frustration finds its way out of him.

“I just...I hate that it’s been so long. It’s hard to tell myself sometimes - on the worse days - that it’s normal. And then after the fire-” He stops suddenly, the words catching in his throat, and Eddie sees him throw another glance over at the sink.

“What?” Eddie prompts, suddenly not really caring whether Buck owes him anything. He can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s haunting him and he thinks that maybe this is what changed; the reason Buck’s angry with himself.

Buck doesn’t answer, though. He stands up, opens a cupboard and pulls out a folded, unused dish towel. Eddie, frowning, watches him cross back to the sink. Buck takes a deep breath, steel shuddering up his spine as he braces himself, and then turns on the faucet again.

He soaks the towel through, not wearing any gloves to do it. Water splashes in the basin and flecks onto his forearms, silver and luminescent in the light from the shutters. It’s not an overly loud tap, but something about watching it is far louder than the physical noise it makes. When the cloth is drenched, Buck wrings it out, apparently unaware of the tremor in his own hands. He twists the tap off and turns to Eddie. A thick swallow moves in his throat, and then he shakes it open, holding it flat across his upturned hands.

He holds it with an odd mix of fear and reverence; how a soldier might hold a fallen comrade’s folded flag, or how someone in ancient times might have held a shroud.

The muscle in his arms is corded and tight, like a deer in the open; it’s a fixed stillness, one waiting for a hint of threat to move. It’s also the first time he’s held his arms up since changing out of his long sleeves. Eddie can now just make out the dappling inside his elbow and down his forearm disappearing under the cloth, where his scrapes have bruised. They’re not important right now.

Buck’s eyes are almost unfocused, staring down at the towel like he’s seeing through it and the usual startling blue is clouded by confusion, annoyance, traces of anxiety.

Eddie waits. The world four floors up is quiet but for the rhythmic tick over of the analogue clock on the wall.

“I was in there before any of the firehouses could make it to the scene,” Buck says, out of nowhere, after long minutes of silence. “No mask. No fireproofs. But I could already hear people yelling so I couldn’t just sit outside and wait. The smoke was already starting to take over so…” he almost flinches as he shrugs. “A wet cloth, right? You’re meant to put it over your face to stop you inhaling as much if you don’t have anything better, and I didn’t.”

Eddie quite suddenly remembers the redness in Buck’s skin that day.

It was strange; blotchy and streaked on his face and neck even though he was otherwise pale. He didn’t have any monoxide poisoning, he hadn’t been burned, and even on blood thinners, that was too soon for any bruising to start showing up.

It’s much more like Buck hadn’t been able to stop rubbing at it, scraping compulsively, even as he endured the feel of the wet cloth he’d bound over his mouth and nose. The sensation had probably lingered long after one of the other responders had gotten him a mask instead.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but Buck’s eyes are wounded again as they stare down at the dish towel covering his hands. Something indefinite about him starts to shake.

“I didn’t stop to think,” he says, kind of hollow, like his mind isn’t feeding the words right now, either. “I didn’t even flinch. I just did it; I knew I had to and it was that easy. So I’m just…” He searches for words and then lifts his gaze to Eddie. “Does that mean I’m doing this to myself? Am I holding onto it because I’m- broken or- when I should just be able to let go of it?”

Protectiveness so fierce it feels like anger, fire in his veins, bolts down Eddie’s spine like a gunshot and he startles against the counter.

“Buck, no. Stop, okay. You’re not broken. And you don’t just have to let go. It’s more complicated than that.”

Buck doesn’t look convinced and Eddie steps around the island towards him. He can’t quite decide, suddenly, whether to look Buck in the eyes, or at his arms, outlined under the weight of the wet fabric.

“You’re a firefighter, you know what adrenaline is,” Eddie says, firm and low. “You know what happens to your mind and muscle memory when you just need to survive. That’s all it is. It doesn’t mean you weren’t afraid, it means you wanted to live more.”

He realises belatedly he’s been edging closer, and he’s now in arm’s reach. He feels helpless in a way he hates, but he’s used to; from weeks of watching Christopher fight off demons that he can’t see, never could. Somehow he didn’t fail there, and he doesn’t know if he’s saying the right things now, but he does know he doesn’t want to fail Buck, either. 

Eddie grabs for a dry dish towel left out by the drainer instead and says, “You’re not going to beat this by forcing yourself to be okay with it. Don’t hold the things you had to do in that building against yourself, okay?”

Buck blinks, and looks up - his eyes leaving the towel and focusing, hard and burning. “I did all that, though, and now I don’t want to pour a glass of water.” A muscle feathers in his jaw and he offers an admission that sounds like it was stolen from him, “It feels like weakness.”

(If the fact that Buck is running faucets and soaking dish towels in the middle of the night hadn’t given away how rattled he was, Eddie thinks maybe this would have. Buck has never perceived weakness the way most people - most men - do. He’s never been afraid to cry, to wear his heart in the open, yet this is what he feels is weak; holding onto a fear even after he’s been forced to confront it).

Eddie reaches for the wet towel without taking his eyes off of Buck’s. It’s cold. Gooseflesh races up his arm as he curls his fingers around the edge and pulls it away, trying to lift it up so it doesn’t drag over Buck’s skin. He didn’t run the hot tap when he soaked it. Eddie isn’t sure what would have been better.

He throws it in the sink, folds the dry cloth around Buck’s hands instead and tugs the end tight. He just hopes the press of it can take the damp chill away, that his pulse hasn’t already carried the chill of it back up into the cage of his ribs.

Buck’s eyes snap from his wrists to Eddie’s face, eyelashes feathering like butterfly wings. His breathing goes quiet.

“Listen to me when I tell you it isn’t,” Eddie says softly. “It’s not weakness, Evan. It’s part of getting better.”

“How long does that take?” Buck breathes, the words almost phantom in the shadows between them.

It’s a rhetorical question; he knows as well as Eddie does that there’s no definitive answer. He’s not asking because he wants that, though; he’s not looking for a timeframe. He knows there might not be one, that some things stay.

Eddie shrugs. “As long as you need it to.”

.

The next day Eddie and Christopher pack up to head home. Maddie arrives just as they’re getting ready to leave, fully intent on dragging Buck out of his apartment with a request for Buckley sibling bonding time.

“I’m not getting in the middle of that,” Eddie says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Maddie taps her foot in the kitchen and Buck glances pleadingly at Eddie from the bottom of the stairs.

“We’ve bonded lots already,” Buck argues, albeit half-heartedly. “Can’t it wait another day?”

“Nope,” Maddie says cheerfully. “I’m at work tomorrow.”

“Working on Sundays is cruel,” Buck says, but he grabs his sneakers and accepts the hug that Christopher moves to give him. “You should complain about that.”

Maddie rolls her eyes. “Like you don’t work weekends?”

Buck makes a face at her over Christopher’s head. “Not right now.”

He says it with an affected air of smugness, but they all know Buck misses it and they’re all polite enough not to say it.

Eddie swings his and Christopher’s bags onto his shoulder and shoves his phone into his pocket. “Okay well, we’ll clear out for Buckley time. Ready,  _ mijo _ ?”

Christopher pulls away from Buck and nods. “Yeah. See you tomorrow, Buck.”

“See ya, Buddy,” Buck beams at him. “We have a firetruck to build.”

“I’ll pack my legos,” Christopher says. He heads out the front door smiling from ear to ear.

Eddie edges around the kitchen table - extra careful after bashing into it - reaching out to catch Buck’s shoulder. He turns him gently and then hugs him. He doesn’t plan to linger long, not while Maddie is very pointedly busying herself with the coffee machine and Christopher is making tracks down the hall. For just a moment though, he lets himself breathe and hold on. Buck folds tight around him, his arms firm despite the bruises he’s probably pressing and exhales into the side of Eddie’s neck. Eddie’s heartbeat shudders.

Then Buck whispers, “Save me.”

It’s a laughing, last ditch attempt.

Eddie brushes his knuckles against Buck’s ribs and pulls away sniggering. “Have fun,” he says instead. “I’ll drop Chris off in the morning. Thanks.”

He heads out the door and jogs to catch up to Christopher. He’s starting to notice that even when he has to go, it never really feels like leaving.

.

On Sunday morning their shift kicks off at nine.

Bobby already has scrambled eggs, toast and waffles on the go in the firehouse loft, and Athena is clearly on a day off, because she’s snuck in. She’s reclined on one of the barstools, mug steaming in front of her and watching Bobby with an intently fond expression as he jjuggles pans on the stove. Eddie jogs up to them as soon as he’s pulled on his kit in the locker room and he’s barely hugged Athena hello and pulled a plate towards himself before Hen is also joining them.

Athena gets up to give her a hug and Bobby calls that they’ve run out of pasta as well as eggs, so a trip to Howie’s market is probably due to replenish their cupboards.

That’s when Eddie looks up because- “Hey, where is Chimney, anyway?”

Hen rolls her eyes. “Had breakfast with Maddie this morning. He called me ten minutes ago, said they were on the way but traffic was bad.”

“What’s bad?” Athena half scoffs. She’s balancing a mug of coffee between her fingers and looks about as far from impressed as it’s possible to get. “We live in LA. Traffic is always bad.”

It turns out bad constitutes a seven car pileup that also involves an articulated lorry that jack-knifed at a fairly major junction.

Chimney arrives half an hour late to a dead shift looking hassled and as though he’s already been up twenty four hours. He races up to them, apologising profusely before he’s even in earshot.

Bobby listens to the explanation, side-eyeing the sirens in the ceiling like he expects them to get called in now he knows about it.

“Two crews already out there, Cap,” Chimney sighs. He finally sinks down onto a barstool when it becomes clear Bobby isn’t going to hold it against him. “They’re covered - but we can probably write off the one thirty-four today. Hope no one needs us out that way.”

Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “Get some breakfast, Chim. We could have a long day ahead if it’s starting off like this. The rest of you - on the floor. Maintenance checks on the rigs and when that’s done put in some gym time.”

They all slowly disperse to do as they’ve been told. There’s the familiar clamour of boots on metalwork echoing against the rafters as the loft is vacated. Someone puts on the radio; static crunching into jazz notes as it settles on a station and then that starts to wash out around the firehouse; ripples spreading until the soft volume fills the space. Athena gives Bobby a kiss and then heads out herself, sliding on a pair of blackout sunglasses when she steps into the light through the doors.

Chimney gratefully starts to pull plates of leftovers on the breakfast bar over to himself.

“Didn’t you say he was having breakfast with Maddie?” Eddie mutters to Hen at the top of the stairs.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, watching Chimney narrowly through her glasses. “He’s late and he gets a second breakfast. Why can’t I run into any traffic accidents?”

Eddie shakes his head, pats her on the arm, and jogs down the stairs.

He’s just about to pull himself into the cab of the ladder truck when Maddie appears.

The main doors are open, sunlight spilling into the firehouse and letting a bit of a breeze rush through, occasionally buffeting the hum of the radio. Maddie edges in, darting glances left and right in that classic kind of way that says she doesn’t want to interrupt and isn’t sure she’s meant to be there. Eddie knocks the cab door shut instead and lifts up his clipboard to grab her attention.

Her face lights up with a smile and she diverts across to him, cutting between the firetruck and the ambulance.

“Hey,” he says, thumbing awkwardly over his shoulder. “Uh - Chimney was upstairs if you-”

“I’m actually-” She stops, swallows and twists her fingers together then starts again. “I was looking for you. There’s just-um. Do you have a second?”

Eddie frowns and his heart snags somewhere near his throat, blood going thick. His heart hurts suddenly like it’s trying to beat tar around his body.

It’s not that they’re not friends, because they are, in as much as he’s spent a fair bit of time with Maddie, he knows a decent amount about her life, and she’s the only sister of one of the most important people in his. But they’ve never had this; the kind of relationship where she’ll just show up at work to talk to him.

The first reaction he has to offer is worry.

“Is it Buck? Is he-”

“Oh-God- He’s fine. They’re fine.” Maddie inhales sharply and her hand jumps to press over her chest. “Wow, sorry, I should not have started like that. They’re fine, I just...it’s about the fire on Thursday. At the LAFD,” she tacks on, as though Eddie could forget.

But it does allow the sudden tense knot in the pit of his stomach to unravel.

He shakes himself. “Uh, sure. Yeah. What’s going on?”

Maddie shoots a wary glance up the alleyway between the two towering vehicles and then bites her lip as she turns back to Eddie.

“Could we…talk somewhere?”

Eddie’s curiosity wins out over anything else, and he nods. “Yeah, sure. This way.”

He leads her towards the locker room. It’s empty right now - everyone is working away on the checks, or they’re in the gym. The glass walls are a security measure but it means no one is going to overhear what Maddie came to say.

A new thought almost physically rocks him just as he closes the door behind them and drops the clipboard onto one of the benches. If she came here about the day of the fire-

“Do they have some lead on what caused it?”

Because that would be something worth keeping under wraps, right?

But Maddie shakes her head, expression crumpled in apology. “No, nothing like that. It’s-” For a moment she seems to be casting around for some way to start. Her eyes dart across the lockers, and then the floor. She twists her jaw, like she’s pulled words back before they can be born, and when nothing comes to mind, she apparently decides to throw tact away.

She folds her arms and says, plainly, “Buck has aquaphobia and you knew.”

Eddie feels vaguely like he’s been punched.

There’s none of the pain, just a tight airlessness that comes from all the space in his lungs collapsing inwards. The only thought he holds onto as his mind reels, is that this isn’t his to give up, so he can’t. Being a soldier trained him for interrogation, but it didn’t quite train him for this.

Somehow, he keeps his expression from falling apart. He folds his own arms, leans back against the doorframe (maybe, hopefully, it makes him look unapproachable, so she’ll reconsider, because the truth is it feels like it’s holding him upright). Eddie doesn’t say anything.

Maddie pulls a wry kind of face and nods to herself. “Yeah, I don’t know what I expected there,” she says, just low enough that Eddie doesn’t think she really said it to him. “I should be used to the two of you guarding each other by now.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

It’s not the first time he’s heard that; Bobby said much the same thing, in his back yard, weeks ago. Eddie may talk about Buck a lot, but he’s gotten good at protecting actual information. Evidently, Maddie’s noticed, too.

She just smiles again, less wry and more...fond.

“It’s not- I wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t...he told me,” she stumbles to say. “We talked a bit, yesterday. He didn’t say a lot, but he did tell me that he’s been...dealing with it; this thing with water. And then later I realised - You asked me to take him a change of clothes. The day of the fire.”

Eddie doesn’t really want to talk about this, even now. It’s not that he thinks Maddie would lie about what Buck’s told her. It just still feels like it’s not his.

Thankfully, maybe, she doesn’t seem to need his input here. It’s more like she’s trying to process everything and she needed a sounding board; someone safe she could say it all to without breaking her brother’s confidence. Usually she might tell Chimney, or Josh - but if neither of them know about the aquaphobia, Eddie is her only option.

“I thought it was random, but then it made sense, you know? When I saw him.” Maddie’s voice jolts just slightly, her eyes going distant - looking right through Eddie and into a memory that’s two days old. “He was soaked through, covered in-just- soot and black stuff. I mean, he had your jacket but he wasn’t dressed for a fire. I just thought that you were thinking ahead in case anything got burned. But it’s not the fire you were worried about. You already knew."

Maddie’s eyes fill with tears but none of them spill. She presses her lips together, her fingers twisting and interlacing. “I’m his sister and I didn’t see it.”

_ He didn’t want you to, _ Eddie thinks with a burst of sympathy.

Buck hadn’t wanted him to know either.

“I should have put it together before," Maddie continues sadly, weighed. "I’ve been to his place. Dishwashing gloves by the sink, and always at least three towels around because he alternates so they stay dry longer. He was a bartender a few years back and that’s not exactly a dry job. He’s the kid who let his college friends talk him into a wet t-shirt competition for a laugh - hell, he signed up to the Navy SEALs. So this? This aversion to being wet, to...shutting down, almost, when he’s - it’s new, and it’s since the tsunami."

The careful way she says  _ shutting down  _ feels like the cold drag of a knife-point down Eddie's stomach; the imagination of what that is, of what it looks like, is stronger than the words themselves. "Shutting down?" He asks, and his voice scrapes.

He'd hoped that Buck would be distracted enough that his wet clothes didn't register. At the very least, that doesn't seem to have stayed with him the way that the cloth over his face did.

(The cloth was a choice, though; a different kind. They know all about differences).

Eddie thinks of the dry towel he had laced around Buck’s hands in the middle of the night and wonders if he told Maddie that part, too.

“I found him not long after he went to Joe,” Maddie says. She sniffs and wipes unabashedly at her dry cheeks, and when she explains, there’s a steadiness to her instead. “He looked kind of lost, you know? Like he wasn’t really taking anything in. I know that’s shock and adrenaline crash; I’ve seen it, but it’s never the same - seeing it when it’s someone you love and you know they don’t look like that. Not usually.

"He knew who I was, he asked if I’d seen you, but he was coughing and his blood pressure was way up and he just looked...disconnected, you know? I gave him the bag of clothes and it was like something just eased, when he changed into them; like he came back.

“I was a nurse; I know the kind of irrational relief that comes with just changing out of scrubs when there's too much blood. But that wasn't it, was it?”

Eddie hesitates, wonders if she'll carry on again without needing him, but she seems to have actually paused this time. The part that tears at him is he understands it; the way that not knowing claws at your insides like a vicious creature you’ve locked away. He doesn’t think Buck would want to leave that with his sister if he knew.

He shakes his head and Maddie sucks in a warbling, spiky breath, even though she’d already known this was the truth.

Eddie doesn’t know for sure if the clothes are what helped Buck - he wasn’t there - but it’s not really the point. The point is a confirmation of the things Buck told her without offering anything else.

“Okay,” Maddie says, to herself, a steadying sort of exhale. “So he’s...he’s had this a while, and he didn’t want me- anyone, really - to know, but you-”

“It was harder not to notice because Chris was dealing with it, too,” Eddie finally says. “I started to recognise the symptoms before I realised what it meant. I saw them in Buck without thinking to label it.” And then, because he needs Maddie to hear it, “I think he knew, over the summer when he helped Chris work out showering, that he was risking me finding out about him, too. He did it anyway, to help my kid. I don’t know because he decided to tell me; he just let me see it.”

Something in Maddie’s expression eases, her brows are pulled down but she doesn’t look like she’s carrying a heavy weight on her collarbones, crumpling her inwards any more. 

“It’s good that he wasn’t alone for that,” Maddie says. Then, “He, uh- he said that it’s been getting better.” This one sounds kind of like a question.

Eddie thinks about the towel around Buck’s hands in the middle of the night. He thinks of the growing number of times before the fire he would do the dishes, how he doesn’t need to scrub his hair dry from a shower and still wear the towel around his neck after.

What is better?

It’s not linear, that’s for sure. Getting better lives in loops and backward steps, in highs and lows. It’s something, though, because Buck isn’t in the same place he was in the weeks after the wave.

“It is,” Eddie says.

(He wonders if that’s as visible to the others as it is to him; if they saw how bad it was in the first place).

“You knew it wouldn’t be good for him to come out that day, off of all the adrenaline, and realise he was soaked,” Maddie says. This one is a statement, but it’s waiting.

“I didn’t want him to have to chance it,” Eddie admits.

Maddie breathes out; air from a single pair of lungs that somehow fills the space in the locker room. It’s a gentle pressure, like a balloon not fully expanded and then pinched shut. She doesn’t look like questions are raking talons into her bones any more. They’ll come back, but maybe she can take them to Buck when she’s less worried about the answers.

She says, “I figured that he might tell me it was okay, so I didn’t worry. I didn’t think you would.” Wryness pulls at the shape of her mouth, “Not that you did say much, but I kinda figured that, too. I’m sorry - that I asked, but thank you.”

Eddie nods. He can’t quite say ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘no problem’ because he doesn’t think he’ll fully mean them. Instead he unfolds his arms, flexing his fingers to try to shake out the stiffness in his biceps. Apparently he was holding himself together tighter than he thought. Then he stands off the door, gesturing to it a touch awkwardly.

“Do you…?”

Have to go? Have anything else? He’s not sure where the rest of that sentence goes, but Maddie jumps and nods like she’s grateful for the open question mark.

“Right, yes. Work. I have to get back to the dispatch in time for eleven. Late shift.”

Eddie smiles a little. “Avoid the one thirty-four. I heard it’s bad.”

Maddie giggles in a kind of startled way, like she hadn’t expected to, and the pressure in the room bursts quietly before Eddie opens the glass door.

The humming crackle of the radio washes back over to them through the gap - no longer jazz but alt rock. No one looks their way; the crew moving around and getting on with their tasks, always one ear trained for the sirens to go off.

“I should let you get back to…” Maddie trails off, eyes flitting about the firehouse. She gives up on it, instead turning back to him in the doorway. In that small, liminal space between the held breath of the locker room and the bustle of activity on the main floor, she smiles softly up at him.

“He could have been dealing with it on his own this whole time,” she says. “But he wasn’t. I’m glad he has you.”

It’s not nearly as simple as that but Eddie shrugs. “I’m glad I have him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more attention this time on how Buck is coping, not to mention the irrational and inconsistent patterns of trauma :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm sorry this has been so long in the works.
> 
> Explanations at the end of the chapter because I figure no one wants to read those before Buddipher haha. Hope you enjoy if you're still around :)

“And you’re absolutely sure?” Eddie checks.

It’s more to ease the weight of separation anxiety in his chest than because he actually thinks Christopher has changed his mind.

His kid’s already holding the handle of his wheeling suitcase, using it to help himself balance and standing next to the wheel arch of the truck. It’s bright out, warm despite the date placing them solidly in autumn, and the car is still sort of ticking under the hood from the engine’s recent use as it sits idle and gleaming on the curb. Christopher’s attention is directed up the herringbone paved driveway as Dylan from school’s mom comes out to meet them.

“I’m sure, Dad,” Christopher says. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Eddie half laughs as he swallows something that feels a lot like tears; salt at the back of his throat. He leans down to give Christopher a hug and makes himself let go before he can be accused of worrying too much, or causing Chris that particular brand of parent-only embarrassment. He hands him his crutches instead.

“Okay, okay. Have fun, be good, and Tasha has my number if you need anything, so you can call me no matter what, yeah?”

“Okay,” Christopher says agreeably. He smiles up, looking away from the drive for a moment as Tasha reaches them. “Love you, Dad.”

Eddie breathes out. “I love you, too,  _ mijo _ .”

Christopher starts off up the drive and Tasha smiles warmly at him as she stops in front of him instead, reaching out to take the handle of the suitcase.

“It’s going to be fine, Eddie,” she says, patient and warm.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies. “He just...hasn’t really been away from home since…”

He says it before he’s even remembered that there’s plenty of nights he’s not been home, exactly. Eddie’s been working, and when Carla doesn’t stay with him, he’s been at Buck’s - on occasion overnight as well, depending on shifts. But somehow those don’t count.

This feels like the first time he’s been away since the wave, even if Eddie knows that logically, that’s ridiculous.

“He’ll be right back in no time,” Tasha says, still gentle and resolutely understanding. “Take a night off. Sleep early, go out, have fun. I’ve got this and I will call you if he needs you, but we have a whole evening planned. He’s gonna be great, Eddie.”

He finds himself eased by her steadfastness in spite of himself.

He says thank you, at a loss for much else.

She waves him off the drive with a smile and starts back to the house with the suitcase. Eddie looks up just once more to see Christopher clatter his way in the front door, and then he turns around to climb back into the car.

.

An easy quiet settles over them between topics as Eddie makes his way down the street. Buck’s the one to break it next, veering to avoid a wilted dandelion growing in the crack between two paving slabs. “He left to his sleepover okay then?”

Eddie shrugs, glancing sideways at Buck and blowing out a breath.

“Yeah. Like I wasn’t even there.”

Something of his lingering conflict must bleed through, because Buck nudges him softly, eyes molten and earnest.

“That’s good, though,” he says, only half like a question. “If he’s ready to be away it’s a step forward, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales again. “I hope so.”

Buck shrugs then, and there’s impishness curling in his voice. “Or, I mean...maybe he’s just not ready to have his dad embarrass him in front of his friends.”

Eddie snorts and reaches out to shove Buck just hard enough that he has to skip to dodge the edge of the curb. He bounces back onto it - a fluid recoil from the road that has him rejoining the sidewalk seamlessly - and he’s laughing and alight, head ducked forward.

“Hoped I had a few more years before I reached the embarrassing dad stage,” Eddie comments, even though that exact thought had occurred to him as he hugged Christopher goodbye. It would have been fine, only there’s a bit too much mournful sincerity in the thought for him to pass it off as the joke he’d intended.

Buck, at least, can see through it.

“You do,” he says easily. “That kid is so proud of you, Eddie. I don’t think it’s even on his radar that you could ever be embarrassing. He’s just excited to spend the night at a friend’s place. He probably feels grown up, you know? Maybe feels like it means he’s feeling better about it all, too.”

Eddie does know, and he gets it. It’s just sometimes harder to remind himself of those things when he’s gotten so used to worrying and second guessing. He’s ever more grateful for Buck; for the easy presence of him in his life, helping him keep his head together.

“Guess it’s kinda like when he started school again, huh?” Buck asks softly. “Him being gone? Suddenly you have all this time and no idea what to do with it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “Except I don’t even get him back in the evening. That part isn’t in the manual when you become a parent. Side effects - you forget who you were or what you did before them.”

Eddie doesn’t even want to think about what happens when Christopher turns eighteen.

Buck says nothing for a long moment.

It’s not the kind of thing that needed an answer, really. Eddie’s happy just wandering down the sidewalk from the store, Buck keeping pace at his shoulder and letting the quiet reel out like loose thread between them. The traffic rushes past, little pockets of sound flaring and fading in smooth oscillation as car radios pulse out of their open windows, slipping in and out of hearing range. The bags from the grocery store rustle between Eddie’s fingers and he and Buck peacefully knock shoulders as they round a corner and continue past a set of traffic lights.

Finally, Eddie’s house comes into sight up the street and Buck does another little skip, jolting like someone’s touched a taser to him. He pulls his hands from his jeans pockets.

“Alright, c’mon,” he taps Eddie’s chest with the back of his fingers and nods ahead. “Drop your stuff and pack a bag. Come stay at the loft.”

Eddie thinks it’s a wonder he doesn’t drop the bags where he stands.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Buck shrugs, undeterred. He’s smiling in that coaxing, disarming way that reduced Isabel Diaz of all people to mush. “I’ll make some pasta, we can watch something other than the Cartoon channel, you have free rein of that air mattress instead of the couch, you don’t end up wandering around your house all night wondering if Chris is asleep.”

“You think I’d just wander around until sunrise?”

Eddie asks it only because it’s the easiest thing for him to lock onto. They’ve reached the house and he jostles the bags to pull out his keys.

Buck laughs just over his shoulder. “I don’t know - maybe?” Then he sobers, shrugging with maybe a tiny touch of bashfulness. “No, look. I know you’ll be fine, but I also know that this is kind of bigger than just him going to school for a few hours. So. If you want. I’m saying that even if you want to pace and worry...you don’t have to do it at home alone.”

Eddie wonders if Buck knows that this sounds like a date.

(More than, maybe, since it’s been clearly implied it’s an all night kind of offer, even if the air bed is involved).

(It also sounds a lot like a best friend taking care of him; watching his back).

Eddie lets them inside, finding his way down the hall without turning on any of the lights. There’s still enough sunlight to make it easy, and yet somehow the house already feels empty, dark and too large. The shadows are cool and grey, crouched behind the furniture where the pale yellow spill from the windows can’t reach. The rooms are gaping like the tenderness of an open wound.

Eddie pushes the thought aside. It’s a sleepover. It’s going to be good for Christopher. Good for both of them, maybe.

Which brings him back to the point; the invite.

It should be nothing. Hell, he spent two days in a row at Buck’s just little over a week ago following the fire at the LAFD. He woke up to him cooking pancakes on the second day while Christopher snoozed on the inflatable bed as long as he could get away with. Waking up at Buck’s isn’t new or unfamiliar.

Doing it without Christopher is.

The rest of it somehow reshapes itself around his absence into something entirely different. Something a little terrifying, but also something that feels tightly like yearning, and entirely too much to walk away from.

“Does that mean you’ll let me pace in your apartment instead?” Eddie asks. He sets the grocery bags down in the kitchen and turns to lift his eyebrows at Buck, who followed him inside.

Buck smirks. “Got some un-worn floorboards with your name on them. I expect them scuffed by seven am.”

Eddie snorts. He shakes his head and bites his tongue between his teeth. Buck still looks unfazed, his weight rocked against the doorframe, thumbs hooked back over the front pockets of his jeans. Buck knows he looks good; he’s never been exactly shy, but his ease inside his own skin is also so practiced and natural that Eddie wonders if he does any of it on purpose or if it’s just autonomic.

“You’re sure?” Eddie asks.

He still wonders if he knows what this is but isn’t brave enough to ask it outright.

It’s more than that, though.

It’s not just the new shape of them without Christopher in the apartment. It’s everything Buck has been carrying with him, too; the lingering phobias and the bursts of insomnia, the nightmares that still persist. It’s all things that Eddie knows, things he’s seen for himself before, and Buck knows that, but they’re still things Buck hadn’t wanted him to worry about.

This is an invite that allows him to witness them again.

Maybe it’s a good thing - Eddie hopes that it is. Maybe the night in his kitchen with that wet dish towel broke open a dam and he’s stopped trying to hide those jagged, still injured parts of himself.

“Yeah,” Buck says, and he lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I just...I still have one alarm but I can turn that off so you don-”

“Hey, no,” Eddie interrupts him. “I’m good with being woken up. I’m used to it - might freak out more if nothing does shake me, you know? You need it still, and that’s okay. It’s helping, right? So don’t mess with it. It’s not worth it.”

Buck’s teeth worry into his lip but he shrugs and makes a half nod. “Sure, okay.” Then, apparently corralling himself, he looks up, two parts mischief, one part hopeful. “Is that a yes, then?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and gestures to the grocery bags.

“Make yourself useful and put the perishables in the fridge. Take anything you need for pasta or whatever. I’ll go pack a bag.”

Buck pushes himself off the doorframe, smiling and already pulling open the refrigerator door. Eddie slides around him and heads for his room without looking back.

.

  
  


Buck cooks a good pasta dish. Pasta Thursdays at the firehouse probably helped it stick, since Eddie knows that anything beyond breakfast is still a work in progress. Either way, it’s good food and they both eat enough to make them drowsy.

The evening soaks away from them.

The TV plays a handful of fire and fury style thrillers, the gentle rumble of the old boiler kicks in and the distant sound of traffic and pedestrians on the street outside blends together until they’re both near sleep. Eddie remembers how bad the couch is to sleep on sat up, though, so he forces himself up, stretching in the hopes of shaking off any other kinked necks, and makes his way to the airbed.

He crashes out on it and falls asleep listening to the creak of metal and the twang of springs overhead as Buck climbs the loft.

He’s expecting the alarm to wake him in the early hours.

He’s also expecting Buck to kill it inside of a minute so they can both go back to sleep. It’s a slow, lagging kind of realisation, like a computer several seconds behind, that it hasn’t happened.

Eddie feels his brain gradually shifting gears as the sound persists. That muffled, soupy feeling of sleep and timelessness starts to flex into real shapes and then he’s actually, really awake and wondering how long he’s been hearing it go. It could have been one minute, or it could have been fifteen.

It’s still blaring; an escalating beat. Buck doesn’t seem to have so much as twitched.

That’s when Eddie’s newly awake brain catches on and backtracks so rapidly he feels like he’s just fallen over even though he’s lying down.

Buck’s been doing much better, but he said himself he still gets stuck in his own head sometimes. He can control so much more when he’s awake, but the nightmares - those can still grab him and not let go. It’s all too easy to remember the night weeks ago, Buck on Eddie’s couch and the way his dreams hadn’t let him breathe or escape, intent on drowning him.

Eddie climbs off of the airbed and stumbles upright, navigating through the dark shapes to the stairs and then eases quietly up to the loft.

Buck’s alarm is shrill and angry, his phone a blazing beam of light on the bedside table, but he’s still asleep. It’s not a fitful one; he doesn’t look like he can’t breathe and he isn’t churning the blankets, distress etched into his face, but he’s not peaceful either. There’s rapid movement under his closed eyelids, his pulse thrumming unevenly in the base of his throat, breaths tight. Whatever it is, it’s deafening him to the world.

This is a choice that isn’t Eddie’s, but even by doing nothing, he’ll be making it. He can leave Buck asleep and hope he’ll resettle and rest, or he can wake him and hope this nightmare was something he wanted out of.

He’s been sleeping better. Eddie knows that, even if they don’t exactly sit and discuss the specifics. Buck may not be leaving everything behind, but slowly he’s making some kind of peace with it. Eddie wonders if - in some cruel twist of irony - the fire, and the frustration it raised actually let Buck forgive himself long enough to see he wasn’t still stuck on that pier.

There’s shadows of it around him and maybe there always will be, but he’s come a long way from it, too.

Eddie reaches out for the phone to kill the alarm and silence crashes down on them. There’s a snag of breath hissing between Buck’s teeth, a rapid flutter under his eyelids, and Eddie’s heart beats in his throat.

He already knew it, but this is enough to land the weight solidly like a rock in his stomach. It’s definitely a nightmare. Eddie’s seen enough of them to know. Then the choice is impulsive.

He’s wary about how close he gets; knows all too well how Buck can startle from sleep even when he’s not plagued like this. Eddie reaches out, stretching himself carefully across the shadowy expanse of the empty side of the bed, and squeezes his shoulder.

Buck doesn’t bolt awake.

He blinks. He’s almost unnaturally still, pulse misfiring chaotically in the juncture of his neck as the dream clears out of his mind. The panic holds out, his eyes fluttering in the dark. They widen, pupils constricting and there’s the jump of a strained cord underneath his jaw, but nothing else - not even his fingers twitching.

It’s not almost unnatural stillness - that’s exactly what it is.

Fuck.

“Hey, easy,” Eddie says quickly, keeping his voice low. He squeezes again with his hand, hoping it’s enough to ground him even though Buck’s eyes dart right past him, hitting the corners of the room, frantic. “Sleep paralysis. It’s normal, okay. Hang in there. You’re fine. You woke up too fast, just let your body catch up.”

Eddie doesn’t move, warm cotton flattened between his palm and the knotted deltoid muscle of Buck’s shoulder joint. It’s all he trusts himself to offer; some small gesture that says he’s there, that he’s what’s real and Buck isn’t doing this alone.

Buck swallows. The seconds tick by, draw out slow like sap from a tree and then his shoulder shifts under Eddie’s hand. His fingers spasm and curl around the bedsheets, and he inhales sharp and staggering.

Eddie lets him go, ignoring the tight sounds of choked breath that sit close to sobs in the shadows. Buck sits up, rubbing at his eyes with a hand before raking it back over his head. He’s not shaky, though, not gasping for air and the panic etched in his expression has gone, melted down into bone-weariness. Eddie hopes he did the right thing.

He lets his hand linger as long as he can get away with, bites down the impulse to move his fingers to the back of Buck’s neck and soothe patterns into his skin. He lets go when the sound of his breathing is back to normal.

“Pier?” he finally asks, softly, when Buck eventually flattens back against his pillows.

Buck sighs, “Yeah.”

The thing is, they’ve had this conversation.

They’ve had it more than once, all the forms of it there are. Eddie doesn’t have anything left to say to him that Buck doesn’t already know - not about this. It’s nothing that Buck wouldn’t already have told himself, either.

So Eddie doesn’t say anything.

He shoots a sideways glance at Buck, but Buck doesn’t seem in the least bit bothered by him; quiet and malleable against the pillows, eyes open and gaze drifting languidly across the ceiling. Eddie twists and lays himself back across the bed, choosing to say nothing when he feels Buck shift to give him room.

Minutes tick past.

The loft is airy and oddly timeless; like the glowing numbers on the clock don’t actually matter; like the early hours of the morning aren’t meant for them. The shadows are long, stretched thin between the bricks and metal framework, colourless against the grey wash of light from the crescent moon. Buck’s breathing is louder than the familiar sound of the boiler, only because Buck is closer.

“Your alarm is awful,” Eddie says.

Bucks exhale catches on a laugh that sounds warm and sleepy. “Well it didn’t work.”

There’s liquid weight in his bones and Eddie rolls his tongue. “I meant the sound, but yeah, that, too.”

There’s a rustle of movement to Eddie’s left, up near the top of the bed, and then a pillow hits him in the side of the head, air crushing out of it on impact. His brain goes pleasantly fuzzy under the playful assault, like it’s full of cotton candy. He grabs the pillow and stuffs it under the back of his neck instead, then goes back to gazing at the ceiling. Buck doesn’t ask for it back. He doesn’t say anything.

The angular path of weak moonlight through the windows shifts slowly across the exposed metal rafters. The numbers on the clock bleed green, out of focus in Eddie’s peripheral vision as they track languidly past two am. Eddie only realises he’s falling asleep when Buck’s voice jolts through his brain like sticking fingers in an electrical outlet.

“I wonder sometimes...what might have happened if I didn’t have you guys. After everything, I mean.”

It’s vague, and sleepy - not quite a fully formed thought - but Eddie knows him and he knows what fits between the words. He’s glad Buck’s come far enough, placed enough worth in himself, to acknowledge he does have them; him and Christopher. It’s not something he would have said back over the summer.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie shrugs wanly. His shoulders shift lethargically against the mattress. “You do have us.” 

“Best family I’ve ever had,” Buck murmurs.

Eddie closes his eyes to the ceiling and to the glowing clock as it drips over the nightstand, and he aches and wants and doesn’t remember falling asleep.

.

It’s light out when he wakes up.

Eddie sits up slowly but Buck doesn’t stir. They’re sprawled across the bed, Eddie still with his stolen pillow and Buck twisted at an angle to make more room for him. The blankets divide them up; Buck folded underneath them and Eddie laid over the top, but the loft is warm. He didn’t wake up because he was cold, or because he heard a noise, or even because his brain has just learned to anticipate. He just feels like he’s actually slept a full night.

He can only hope that the change of scenery for Christopher means he slept through as well.

(On that point; there’s the sudden, burning need to check his phone to see if Tasha left any messages during the night).

Eddie slowly lifts himself up to a sitting position, breathing through the warm ache of sleep in his spine. He glances over at Buck.

He’s still asleep, flat on his back, wrist draped over his sternum. His face is peaceful, eyes quiet under his eyelids, mouth a soft shape, and there’s no furrowed line through his birthmark.

Eddie knows consciously that Buck can sleep, and sleep well. The insomnia is intermittent, if disruptive, but he’s too functional for someone who doesn’t sleep at all. Seeing it is different, though. There’s something about being able to witness it; Buck actually getting rest, that’s soothing in some intangible way.

He wants to watch Buck sleep peacefully long, long after it stops being a rarity.

The recognition of it isn’t anything world-shifting - not like the second shoe dropping the day he’d seen Buck and Christopher in the store and realised he wanted far more than he’d thought, in a way that was already bigger than life. It’s not like that now; it’s just an almost lackadaisical certainty.

He wants it enough to ask for it.

Eddie doesn’t know when. Right now he still wants to leave the actual decision with Buck, but it’s that same inevitability from the day of the fire sitting in his bones like gravity. One of them will change something eventually. This limbo won’t last forever. There’s too much that they both want, just out of reach.

All too suddenly, that’s what’s scariest.

  
  


He was okay with having feelings for Buck. It didn’t feel like it was anything new to adjust to - just something that had always been there even when he didn’t recognise it. The feelings were easy to live with. They didn’t change anything on their own. Acting on them is what changes things.

The last person Eddie tried to build a relationship with had walked away from him.

Shannon had said a lot about being back and wanting to be a family again. She’d been frustrated and hurt that Eddie couldn’t trust her. He didn’t know how; was sure he wasn’t ready, but he’d relented. He’d tried. He let himself hope, allowed her space in their lives again...and she’d left.

Eddie realises, sitting there at the end of Buck’s bed and watching him sleep, that maybe that’s damage inflicted that never healed. It doesn’t feel like prodding at scar tissue. It feels like a fresh wound; tender and sharp.

He wasn’t enough for his wife; for someone who’d known him almost out of school. Shannon had been Christopher’s mother and still it wasn’t enough to make her stay; not even to make her try.

Why should he be enough now?

.

He leaves Buck to sleep, edging down the stairs to go find his phone while his brain spins.

Eddie knows it’s not true, is the thing. He spent months telling Buck that your mind plays tricks, and that trauma takes different shapes. He’s spent months telling Christopher that Shannon loved him, and that it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t stay, long before her life had been taken. Whatever else they disagreed on, Eddie knows that wasn’t a lie.

And then he remembers Bobby.

He remembers Bobby in his back yard, the week Christopher went back to school. Buck and Athena had been sat inside at the dining table just as Bobby said-

_ Don’t forget yourself, while you’re trying to help them. _

Maybe he had.

(More likely, he’s now noticing, what Bobby actually meant went right over his head).

.

Eddie packs up the airbed and makes the coffee. Buck comes traipsing down the stairs, rubbing a hand through his hair and his eyes on his phone, just as the coffee finishes, like he’s been summoned.

“There,” he says, apropos of nothing, tossing down the phone in exchange for the steaming mug Eddie hands him. “Changed the alarm.”

Eddie vaguely remembers insulting it in the middle of the night.

“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “To what?”

He aches. Everything is a slow, constant ache, of things he wants and things he’s realised he’s a little afraid of, but Buck makes it quieter. He muffles it somehow.

Buck, unaware, says with an air of pleased mischief, “To farmyard animals.”

Eddie blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

Buck pulls a face over the cup. “Hey, I’ve tried everything but the firehouse siren at this point. If it works…”

Eddie’s almost disappointed as he grabs his bag and Buck runs him back home that he won’t be around to hear the new alarm, or verify how much better (or not) it turns out to be.

.

“Carla’s meeting me at Cedars,” Buck says when Eddie hops out of the passenger door onto the curb outside his house. “Last check up before it all goes cold turkey. Go enjoy the day with Christopher.” Buck gives him a look through the open window. “You haven’t had any panicked calls. He’s fine, Ed.”

For once, though, Eddie’s a little preoccupied and the usual tide of worry for his kid doesn’t rush at him.

“Yeah, probably,” he says anyway. He thumps the side of the car. “Text me how it goes, okay? Don’t make me get it from Carla.”

“That’s a breach of patient confidentiality,” Buck teases. Then, immediately, eyes soft and ever so blue, he says, “Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

Eddie watches him put the car back into gear and then pull away. He accelerates down the street between the snoozing rows of parked family sedans and hatchbacks, probably already turning up the radio. When Buck’s tail lights are out of sight, Eddie cuts across the lawn to his own car and jumps straight in, throwing his bag over into the back seat before firing up the engine.

.

Bobby opens the door after the first knock.

To his credit, he only looks surprised for an instant before his face smooths. He blinks and smiles, a faintly unfamiliar silhouette in his civilian clothes.

“Eddie. Hi,” he says lightly. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie feels kind of inexplicably like he wants to laugh.

“Uh. Yeah...I…”

The words just won’t come out and Eddie lets them hang. Bobby’s smile softens and he steps back, clearing the doorway and opening his arm. “Come on in.”

Eddie doesn’t step forwards.

He thinks there’s a reason he doesn’t. He isn’t sure whether it’s because he doesn’t want to, or whether he can’t make himself. Maybe it’s simpler. He has to pick up Christopher soon and if he goes inside, this will take longer than what he thinks he came here to say. It could be any of those things, or other, more shadowy reasons that don’t fully form in his head. His eyes catch on the tranquil shadows of the Nash-Grant house and suddenly the words are a leaden weight on his tongue. Opening his mouth to let them out is easier than going inside.

“I...I have PTSD, don’t I?”

Bobby blinks at him. It’s a slow, dawning kind of look, his shoulders sloping slowly as he breathes. The shape of him in the doorway is static, like something that glitched in a video game and got stuck in place while the world keeps going.

It takes a long moment for him to swallow and open his mouth. “What makes you think that?”

Eddie notes absently that Bobby hasn’t invited him in again. His voice is calm and his hesitation said more, but Eddie just goes along with it.

“I don’t know,” he says, on an exhale that’s nearly a laugh. There’s something almost spacey in his head and he doesn’t feel like he occupies the same mass in the world that he did before. It’s weird. “I’m not really… sure. Just… a bunch of things. I don’t-”

There’s a spark, a reminder, then a spiral of fuzzy memories that sting and turn cold at the back of his brain.

He swallows and says, “Shannon, I think. She wanted me to let her back in after everything and I...I found a way to do that. Then she left. I thought we- she- was trying and she just walked away all over again. I thought that was old stuff, you know? I thought it was buried and done and that because it- it isn’t her, that it isn’t the same. I didn’t think I’d be scared because-”

His throat closes up around the truth.

“Because it’s Buck and you do trust him,” Bobby fills in gently.

Eddie feels his lungs fold in. “Yeah,” he says, exhaling collapsed air.

“So that led you to PTSD?”

Bobby’s tone is still careful and unassuming, but Eddie calls his bluff.

“I think it led you there first,” he says, and Bobby’s eyes flicker away. “You knew - something, anyway - the day you spoke to me out back. You said you were worried...that I shouldn’t forget myself while I was trying to help them. This is what you meant.”

It’s not a question and Bobby’s shoulders drop a little more. “Sure you can’t come in?”

Eddie shakes his head.

If he stays out here, somehow it’s not quite as serious, doesn’t have the same kind of weight as it would if he said any of it sitting on Bobby’s couch.

Bobby nods at him, like maybe he gets it, or maybe he’s just letting it go. Maybe he just has enough of his own wounds to know better than pressing on this one. He says, “I’m not a doctor, Eddie. I don’t have a degree in psychology. Nothing I say to you is backed up by anything like that. But yeah… I wondered.

“You’ve been through a hell of a lot. Most of us have, and all those things looked different at the time. I’ve been there; on the fallout of something and not even able to see what it’s doing to you. I figured whatever you were dealing with, you probably wouldn’t think about it.

“I wasn’t sure until you talked to me in the car, the day yours broke down. And for the record, I still wouldn’t say I have the qualifications to call it PTSD, but… you being so sure Buck had to be in the right mind, not wanting to take any choices from him… I don’t know all about what you went through with Shannon but it made sense.”

Maybe that’s a relief.

Eddie isn’t wholly sure how to process it, but he thinks it has to be a good thing, that even outside of his head, Bobby could see the sense in it. He can’t do it again, not without being sure that being with him - with Christopher - is where Buck wants to be.

He had PTSD after his second tour. He knew that; he saw it enough in his army brothers to know, but it had faded into the background of his life over the years as he absorbed himself with raising Christopher and finding a new career and home for them. This time it hadn’t come with nightmares and flashbacks. This time, he’s starting to realise, it’s been more insidious.

He’s been waking up in the night for months, constantly worrying that he’s not getting things right, losing track of himself whenever he isn’t on the job or with Christopher. He’s reminded more than ever of the way Bobby had said gently months ago that trauma took all kinds of different shapes. The insomnia and the paranoia have been there, just not in a way he knew to look for.

That’s when something else hits; a tiny realisation that feels like a warmly glowing candle catching light deep in his chest. He’s been holding Buck and Christopher together this whole time and he hadn’t even noticed that they were holding him together, too.

Something inexplicably soothes inside him, like honey over raw nerves.

He realises he’s been quiet for a long, glacial moment when Bobby ducks his head, trying to catch his eyes and asks, “Hey… you okay?”

Eddie exhales slowly, not quite steady. He still feels like he doesn’t quite inhabit the same mass as he did before (like he left some of himself behind, in the ambulance with Shannon, on the pier with the wave, in Buck’s apartment with that stolen pillow). It feels different now, though; like he’s set aside a weight he didn’t ask to carry and not like he’s a kite with its strings cut.

“I… I don’t know. Yeah,” he decides on. “I think maybe I haven’t been - and I didn’t even really notice - but yeah. I’m okay. I will be.”

Bobby surveys him for a second, like he’s trying to pick out a lie. Eddie doesn’t think he’ll find one; he feels okay. More stable. There’s things he has to deal with, but knowing what to call them helps.

Bobby says instead, “You and Buck?” It’s a shift sideways on a topic that feels like the same one.

Eddie smiles before he can help it. “Yeah, we’re good.” 

That’s about all he can handle. Bobby is a father figure to most of them in the 118, and he’s there without fail for all of their ups and downs. He’s far more than just their boss or their captain, but that’s what he still is, and Eddie doesn’t want to say any more.

He peels backwards, out of the shade overhanging the doorway, and inhales deep when he’s standing in the splash of sunlight on the path again. The air smells like autumn; crisp and bold, renewal tempered by Californian skies. “Hey, thanks,” he says.

“See you tomorrow,” Bobby calls to him as he raises a hand in a wave from the shadow of the hall. There’s a smile on his face and he nods in a way that feels hopeful.

Eddie nods as he circles his car to the driver’s side door. “Bright and early, Cap!”

He rolls down the window as he drives away, lets the touch of chilled wind catch against his elbow, buffeted and roaring. 

.

Eddie gets the text an hour before he’s due to pick up Christopher.

Buck 11:04am   
_ All good. Finish in 4 days _

He wants more. He wants to know what the doctor said - the risks that there could be a relapse and what he needs to look out for if there’s a chance. The goal has always been to get Buck off them for good and back with the team, but the reality of it hits Eddie a bit like everything else today.

(Out of nowhere, things reshaping around the new information in a way he had no way of even contemplating before it became a factor).

He puts that aside.

Right now he just wants to know everything he can so he never has to watch Buck cough up blood ever again.

He doesn’t text back. He’s not even sure where to start but he knows he has no hope of covering everything he wants to say if he types it. He calls instead.

Buck picks up in an instant, sounding like he’s still halfway through finishing a conversation somewhere else.

“Eddie! Hey, I’m- yeah, thank you, have a great day - hey, sorry. I’m just leaving the hospital. What’s up?”

“You’re all clear?” Eddie asks, more to say something than because he didn’t believe it.

“Well, yeah,” Buck says, exhaling into the phone in something that’s almost a laugh. “It’s… there’s other stuff but- yeah.”

“Sounds like more than a yes,” Eddie points out. He’s not quite able to help it, even though an instant later he winces. “Sorry, not my-”

“No, no. Uh-it-” Buck clears his throat thickly. He sounds a little shifty, but based on the fact he’s slipped this much, Eddie figures it’s less about hedging the truth to him and more about whoever is around on his end to overhear. “I’m clear. I’m coming off them and they’re going to keep monitoring things for a few weeks - through the requalify test and then a bit once I’m back on active duty. Just to make sure, you know?”

Eddie rolls his tongue but still says, “Still sounds like a but coming.”

“Just that… if there’s any abnormalities or recurrences then… I might have to…-” he inhales deep, sharp and wounded. “I might have to go back on them. Better that than… dying, right?”

He tries to laugh it off. Eddie can practically picture the familiar way he seems to shrug.

“Then we work it out,” Eddie says.

“Work what out, Eddie? If I go back on them then my job-”

“Is still your job,” Eddie cuts him off. “You can still do it on blood thinners. You gotta be able to, if it comes to it. We - all of us - just have to be more careful. Bobby knows how hard you worked. He’s on your side. Didn’t Hen work with pharmaceuticals? She may know more about implications and what’s possible.”

There’s a slow pulse of silence on the other end of the phone, and then Buck says, sounding choked, “Have you been thinking about this?”

“Not really, no,” Eddie says truthfully. “I just know that only you can do your job, and I’m pretty much done doing mine without you. So whatever we gotta do to get you back there, we’ll do it - whether you have to be on meds or not.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck breathes. “I- God-”

“But right now you’re clear,” Eddie reminds him, moving away from that and changing tack. This is all a hypothetical as long as the doctor keeps him clear. They may never have to worry about it.

“Yeah,” Buck says, a little shaky still, this time with lingering disbelief. “I’m clear. It’s crazy with how long it’s b- hey, yeah it’s Eddie. We all set?”

There’s a murmur in the background that travels down the phone indistinct and humming, and then Buck’s voice is back at the speaker again. “Sorry. Carla’s here. You want me to pass you over so she can give you all the patient confidentiality parts?”

Eddie laughs. “Nah, just say I said hi. You guys have a fun afternoon.”

“You got it,” Buck replies, and Eddie can hear the smile, can hear a new weightlessness in his voice that’s an old familiarity, something he hadn’t even noticed might be missing until he’s hearing it again now. “And hey, I’ll see you and Christopher in the morning.”

“Make sure you sleep properly first, okay?”

Eddie says it thoughtlessly, because he means it, but it makes him remember waking up askew on Buck’s bed, his stolen pillow under his head.

There’s a snatch of breath on the other end, then a laugh that has no air. Eddie thinks maybe he’s not the only one who remembers it.

Buck says, “I’ll let you know how the new alarm goes.”

.

Eddie goes to visit Shannon’s grave.

He arranges with Carla to stay with Christopher a little later than usual and then detours to the cemetery after his next shift finishes up at the firehouse. It’s a little dissonant, really. He’s not sure why, but he figured that it would be bleak, or raining, or at least moonlit and foggy - maybe a slightly lost raven hanging around. It just seemed like the kind of thing that happened when you went to visit a grave.

It’s nothing like that, though. It’s two in the afternoon on a Thursday and he’s in California. There’s palm trees arching breezily over the headstones, the slightly tangy taste of sea salt in the air, and it’s quiet but not morose or haunting. The sun is bright, the grass glows and there’s a small pond full of bulrushes and waterlilies that scatters light as koi fish and frogs swim under the surface. 

Eddie tracks his way to Shannon’s grave marker.

He came for a reason, and he thinks it was for some kind of closure; to say things he didn’t get to before. It’s not until he’s standing in front of it, though - a modest, arched piece of marbled stone, engraved with her name, dates and words that feel foreign in elegant script - that he realises he was wrong.

He doesn’t actually have anything he needs to say to her.

She isn’t here anyway, he thinks slightly wildly. 

Maybe letting go doesn’t have to be dramatic at all. He leaves without a word, gets back in the car and heads home to his son.

.

“Hey, Chris, you think we can talk for a minute, Buddy?”

Eddie watches as Christopher looks up from the scattered paper on the table and caps his felt pen (It’s orange, not blue, and Eddie knows, still, that its stupid to read successes in the colour of ink, but he counts this as one anyway).

“Sure, Dad,” he says, pushing the drawings away. “Is it a grown up talk?”

Eddie edges further into the living room and sits carefully down on the couch. “Yeah, it is.”

Christopher just nods patiently, head rocking to the side as he waits.

Eddie’s still not sure, despite deliberating over it for days, how to do this. The problem is it’s so entangled. He can’t only have this conversation with Christopher once something (anything) changes between him and Buck. That’s not something he can do - change his son’s life without talking to him about it. But there’s something that sits strangely in his gut to have this conversation like he’s just assuming things will go any particular way with Buck.

Whatever impulses or certainty he’s felt, and no matter how sure he is that one of them will say or do something soon, none of that is the same as consent.

He doesn’t want to assume. He refuses to take Buck for granted, but he can’t not talk to Christopher until it’s no longer hypothetical. It’s a hard ask which conversation has to happen first and he’s gone with this one.

He doesn’t know how to start it, but he’s not sure what words he might use to pull it out either, so in the end, he sucks in a breath, fingers pressed together between his knees and jumps in.

“What would you think if I maybe started to see someone?”

Christopher frowns. “Like how?”

“Like…” Eddie casts for some kind of comparison that will make sense to him.

He can’t use Shannon. Christopher would be too young to remember them from before, and what they had last year was nothing like what he means now. That was him sneaking around, hiding it, feeling wounded and soured by it, even though he thought it was what he was meant to do. It was two separate halves; the mockery of a relationship between him and Shannon, and her edging her way back into their son’s life.

He can’t use it as an example.

“Like… your friends’ parents,” Eddie says. “They have two, and they’re both around, but they spend time together, just the two of them while you and your friends play, or while you’re at school. Like that. So… sometimes it would be all three of us, but sometimes I’d see them while you were busy or doing other things.”

Christopher’s still frowning. He flicks his fingers at the nearest felt tip and dolefully watches it roll on the table.

“Would they stay here sometimes?”

Eddie nods cautiously. “Maybe, yes. Eventually.”

Christopher sinks further into his seat. The little furrow in his forehead etches into something sharp and petulant, something more visceral than confusion even as it seems to pain him.

“No,” he says.

Eddie blinks. “No you don’t want anyone to stay here or-”

“No, I don’t want you to see anyone. Not like those parents,” Christopher says. His voice cracks and he sounds close to tears. “I like it like it is now.”

“Okay, hey,” Eddie slips off the couch so he can lower himself to the floor in front of Christopher, who’s curled his shoulders into himself. His concern over the desolate shape of his son is just about enough to keep his mind grounded. “That’s why this is a grown up talk, okay? What is it you don’t like? We can talk about what you don’t want to change - is it because it’s too soon after your mom?”

Christopher lifts his eyes. “Mom didn’t stay,” he says flatly, with all the assurance of someone who never knew how messed around Eddie and Shannon had gotten. “I don’t want it to change. If you spend time with someone then Buck can’t stay. He won’t be around any more, not like he is now. Why can’t Buck just stay, if you want to spend time with someone?”

And that’s when Eddie realises - like an idiot - that he’s managed to go about this all wrong anyway. He isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not.

“Hey, Christopher, listen. Okay? You listening?”

Christopher takes a breath, eyes shining, and nods reluctantly.

“Nothing will change if you’re not ready for it to, but I am talking about Buck.”

Chris blinks, conflict washing across his face, like he wants to believe it but isn’t sure that he can.

“Really?” he asks with a small voice.

“Really,” Eddie says. “It will probably be just like it always has, but...he might be around even more.”

Christopher smiles an instant before his face twists suddenly, contemplating and prying. “Rory’s parents kiss,” he says. “Is that part of seeing someone?”

Eddie tries not to laugh. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“So… “ he prods at the felt pen again as he picks his words, but he looks kind of pleased. “You would kiss Buck?”

“Maybe, yeah.” He doesn’t want to ask if that’s okay - he won’t unless Christopher raises the topic. He’s processing enough already without adding sexuality spectrums to it. “I have to talk to him about it all first,” Eddie adds. “We both have to see if we want that as well, or if we want to just be friends. So right now nothing’s different and you don’t ask him any of this until I say so. But if we both want to then… one day… is it okay with you if it’s Buck who’s here more?”

Christopher shrugs, but there’s now a slow smile pulling at his face as he prods his pens into a neat line on the table. Then he nods.

“Yeah, that’s okay. He’ll still be my friend, though?”

“Of course he will,” Eddie says.

His heart is suddenly in his throat. Christopher being okay with it; this potential, probable, inevitable eventuality makes everything seem so much more immediate; so much more like stone certainty even as it seems several times more fragile and ready to shatter before he can grasp it.

“Will I have to see the kissing, though?” Christopher asks narrowly, his nose scrunching up a little in distaste.

Eddie laughs. Thankfully the topic of how he’ll one day maybe not mind some kissing is a good few years off, and the new weightlessness of having this conversation makes the amusement bubble up easily, like carbonated soda fizzing in his lungs.

“Sorry,  _ mijo _ ,” he says. “You might have to see some of it.”

Christopher’s nose twists again and he squints behind his glasses, but then his little shoulders shrug and he says, “Okay.”

Then, just as Eddie stands up (kind of light-headed and shaken), he asks, “What’s the difference between seeing someone and having parents?”

Eddie freezes, an odd ache in his jaw like it wants to drop but it’s too frozen to comply. Christopher continues unaware, uncapping a pen between his hands and pulling his drawing closer. “If you’re seeing Buck and one day he might stay here with us and you start kissing does that mean he’s a parent?”

Eddie hesitates.

Christopher really has no foundation to understand this, given his own parents weren’t together for most of his life. Because of it, he’s learned to attribute meanings to the structures of family that differ from those of his friends. Eddie doesn’t want to weigh him down with all of the nuances right now; there’s too many things to consider, and Christopher’s ability to comprehend it is just one of them.

“Those parents have been together a long time,” Eddie says carefully. “They’re parents because they raised their kids - your friends. Seeing someone is...newer. Not everyone wants to have kids, but hanging out and dating someone is like learning if you want that with another person.”

Eddie tries not to think of all the ways Buck kind of has been a second parent for months. It’s not because the thought makes him feel like he relied too much on him, or because he’s in denial. It’s just that thinking about it makes it harder to explain the distinction to Chris.

How does he explain that Buck’s been more family than they realised for so long, but the ‘seeing’ part has yet to happen?

Thankfully, Christopher doesn’t press that any further.

He nods, humming, and starts colouring in again. He seems content and at ease, fingers clamped around the orange felt tip. “Okay,” he agrees simply. “What’s for dinner?”

.

There’s a quiet knock on Eddie’s bedroom door that night, just as he’s about to climb into bed, and he turns to open it instead.

Christopher was in bed at least two hours ago, and fast asleep not long after that, but he’s awake again now. The door creaks open and the warm light from Eddie’s bedside lamp spills through the gap, catching on Christopher’s sleep-mussed shape in the hall. He hasn’t brought his crutches but his glasses are on and there’s wrinkles in his pyjamas as he sways on the spot.

“What’s up, buddy?” Eddie asks him softly, opening the door wider and rubbing a hand over his head fondly.

Christopher yawns a little, trying to stifle it by rolling his jaw. When he’s done, he’s wearing a frown, worry flickering across his face, reflected behind his glasses. Eddie feels twitchy suddenly, but the question that comes out isn’t what he expected. (He isn’t sure what he did expect).

“You said some people don’t want kids,” Christopher says, so precise and serious for a kid his age. “If some people don’t want that then...what if Buck doesn’t want me?”

Eddie’s heart drops a beat and staggers behind his ribs, the thud of a lost pulse hammering through his blood in physical pain. He sucks in a breath, words tripping out. He’s doing this all wrong.

“He does,  _ mijo _ . Buck loves you, Chris. I promise.” Eddie sighs slowly. “It’s more like we would have to learn if being together is what we want. It would be a different relationship for us.”

Christopher’s brow furrows more, his nose scrunching up and lifting his glasses. His eyes cast down at the floor. “You and mom tried that. Then she left.”

Eddie ducks in close to him, ruffling at his hair again and then pressing a kiss to the top of his head, arm looped over his small shoulders as he breathes him in. “Buck won’t leave,” Eddie murmurs to him, and he knows it’s the truth. “It was complicated with your mom, but this isn’t the same, okay? He’s not going to leave.”

Christopher takes a deep breath, and nods. When he draws back, his forehead has smoothed out and he looks tired again now the anxiety has been dealt with. He smiles wearily, mutters a goodnight around another yawn, and carefully makes his way back down the hall to his room.

Eddie watches him go, listens for the springs in his bed so he knows he’s back in okay, and then closes the door again. It’s only as he lays down in the dark that he realises there’s no left over pang of worry scraping away under his skin either. When he said Buck wouldn’t leave to Christopher he meant it, but it took saying it out loud to realise how deep the truth ran; that he actually, completely believes it.

That kind of trust is something new. It’s wholly Buck’s, not something he ever gave to anyone else.

It settles something inside him - something intangible, woven deep, buried under layers of sinew, scar tissue and bone. He shuts off the light, falls into the bed and sleeps right through the night without stirring once.

Eddie wakes up to the pale morning sun stretching indolently across the blankets, delicately warm, and doesn’t miss blinking awake in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've been toying with bits of this but I'll address all 'behind the scenes' stuff at the end. For now I just at least hope that the scene between Eddie and Christopher at the end felt okay. I struggle to write kids with the right developmental ages, and with Chris, his understanding of family/parents etc I think would be a bit compromised because of Shannon's abandonment).
> 
> Hey guys.
> 
> Essentially my life has been a comedy of errors for the past few months. Some of it good, some bad. I've been working crazy amounts of overtime at work for three months now thanks to staffing issues, i pulled a load of muscles that meant moving at all was painful for a week, came down with a crap cold and also had a family thing come up. The good part, though, is that it looks like I've found one of the horses I've been looking for which was eating up time and petrol like crazy.
> 
> Although the majority of this fic is written, I'm editing it (and adding whole bits) as I go. I'm a perfectionist, and I'm also trying to convey some complex stuff within Eddie's head, and the dynamics between them all. This chapter has been very nearly ready for a little while but my brain has been scattered across several things and I just wanted to take the time to really make sure it was coming across the way I wanted it to. Reading experience is everything, I think, so I didn't want to get it out quicker when I worried it might miss the mark.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Sorry for the paragraphs of explanation there. We are finally on the last leg of this fic. I won't guarantee a post date for it because things are still up in the air at work and with this horse, but I am definitely not planning on it taking another three months.
> 
> You've all been so great if you hung in there. Sorry for the delay and I hope you liked this part. Thanks <3

**Author's Note:**

> So. Hopefully this is already becoming clear and I won't be saying anything too much on it until the notes at the end. Just a tiny thing to keep in mind:
> 
> I love unreliable narration, and this definitely has it's fair share. Eddie tells this story, and you're limited to his understanding of a lot of it, and also his uncertainty. I hope that comes through clear enough :)
> 
> Also: The whole fic is written (just typing up the last bit) so while the word count got away from me a little (asalwaysshutup) it shouldn't be a long haul for updates.


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